


suddenly

by xintong



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inexplicit Sex, Light Angst, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Roommates, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-10-16 22:51:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10581135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xintong/pseuds/xintong
Summary: “Hey, did you know that I saw a mermaid once?” Lance says, gaze fixed on the ocean. The breeze combs through his hair, tugs the sleeve of his shirt off his shoulder. In the half-light, his eyes shine like moonstone, smooth skin dark as ink. The sight of him steals Keith’s breath away.“You won’t believe in the Loch Ness Monster but you believe in mermaids?” he asks, exhaling on a shaky, disbelieving laugh. Lance turns to him, his smile a light in the dark.“I’ll prove it to you.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "suddenly, everything has changed (the flaming lips cover)" by new rome.

Now, Keith’s a light sleeper, which is a habit that’s aided him for most of his life. Muffled 5am alarm for gymnastics practice beneath his pillow? No problem. Cat trying to pee on his face? Nice try, Red. Shiro burned the toast again and is about to set his ass on fire? Keith’s up at the slightest whiff of smoke.

In college, however, it’s practically a death sentence, especially when the majority of the dorm for whatever godforsaken reason deems it necessary to blast DJ Snake or move furniture at three in the morning. Between working at Coran’s diner and midterms fast approaching, he’s been averaging two hours of sleep per night for the past week. At this rate he might just off himself with a nail filer.

The night seems hell-bent on killing him prematurely anyway when a series of sharp knocks start rapping against his door. Keith has half a mind to ignore it, but the knocks only increase in frequency. He lets out a despairing groan, shoving his comforter aside and hopping off onto the freezing floor. If Rolo lost his keys again, Keith’s going to deck him.

When he wrenches the door open though, what he doesn’t expect to see is a lanky, dark-skin boy standing in front of him, blue _blue_ eyes cutting through even Keith’s sleep-addled mind. He’s in mint scrubs and a loose gray shirt, the word “NASTY” emblazoned on it in the signature NASA logo. Keith takes in the pillow he has tucked beneath his arm and the backpack slung over his shoulder. 

“Hi, Keith?” the stranger says. Keith blinks at him, thoroughly disoriented.

“Um, do I know you?”

The boy pulls a face as if he just swallowed something horrifically sour.

“Oh my god, you don’t remember me.”

Keith crosses his arms, beginning to regret his decision of opening the door immensely. “No, obviously not.”

“Uh, the name's _Lance_?"

Keith moves to shut the door. The boy sticks his foot inside.

“Never mind! Point is, your roommate Rolo stole my bed, so I’m going to steal his.”

“What, no!” Keith’s really trying to shut the door now, but ‘Lance’ is already halfway inside.

“Keith, if you want to confront Rolo about this situation while he’s fucking _my_ ex-girlfriend in _my_ room, be my guest, but I’ve got a nursing practical in three hours and I really can’t do that on no sleep, so just let me in? At least for one night.”

Keith’s not sure what to make of all that information all at once, and in his moment of confusion, Lance slips inside. He stands at the doorway dumbly for a minute, watching as Lance pulls a blanket out of his book bag and settles onto Rolo’s bed with a huff of disgust.

“Don’t worry,” Lance says, words stretched fuzzily around a yawn. “I won’t murder you in your sleep, and I’ll be gone by morning.”

With that, he flickers off like a light, leaving Keith to gape at him in a constipated mix of irritation and disbelief. He’s not sure if he wants to shake Lance back awake or go track down Rolo and yell at him for apparently instigating this bizarre predicament. _Ex-girlfriend? Stolen beds?_ Keith’s head throbs. The clock on his desk reads 2:55AM and the cold tile of the floor burns at his feet.

 _It’s too late to deal with this_ , he decides, and crawls tiredly into his own bed, drifting off almost instantly.

 

&

 

When Keith’s alarm goes off a couple hours later at crack o’ass AM, Lance is already gone. Keith squints at the pale blue pillow and patchwork blanket on the other side of the room, the only signs that someone had been there for the night. Keith’s still slightly convinced that if he rubs his eyes hard enough the items on the bed will disappear, and that whatever happened last night would just turn out to be a weird dream. But after he brushes his teeth and splashes enough water on his face to jolt awake, the pillow and blanket are still there.

 _Is he coming back later to pick those up?_ Keith recalls Lance mentioning something about a nursing practical, and wonders if that makes him a junior like he is. In the brightly lit hallway, Lance had looked around the same age, maybe slightly taller, and blue eyes. Blue eyes on a pleasant face and an unpleasant mouth, running too quickly for Keith to understand a single word. Even in memory, that feature of Lance stands out the most.

Keith tries not to let his mind delve on the topic of Lance for too long though, the laundry list of questions he has for the boy already cramping up his brain, so he grabs his backpack and keys and heads out to class.

The day passes by uneventfully; anthro and physics in the morning followed by lab in the afternoon. Classes are difficult and long as usual, but they’re interesting at the very least. He drops by Coran’s diner afterwards for the evening shift, both to help out and grab something to eat. Coran’s generous enough that he always has food for Keith to take back to the dorm, well aware that Keith would otherwise be skimping off cup noodles and pre-packaged egg sandwiches if left to his own devices. 

“Here, some soup and leftover casserole. Be sure to eat all the vegetables,” Coran fusses after the end of the Keith’s shift, pushing a bag stacked to the brim with Tupperware into his arms. Keith frowns at the weight of it, realizing that there’s at least three days worth of meals in there this time.

“Coran, I can’t take this much. I’ve barely worked enough this week to make up for it.”

“Oh, hodge podge.” Coran waves a hand at him, making sure to keep Keith at arm’s length so that he doesn’t try to pass the bag of food back. “You know I’m not giving you food as payment for the work you do here, and you do plenty of work, mind you. You’re skin and bones my boy. You’ve got to eat!”

Keith bites the inside of his cheek, still feeling uncomfortable being the recipient of such warm hospitality, despite knowing Coran for years at this point. He nods awkwardly in acceptance. 

“Great!” Coran twirls his mustache, pleased. “Oh! Also, Allura asked me to tell you to call her and Shiro, sometime when you’re not busy. They miss you, chap.”

“K, I’ll call them this weekend,” Keith says, averting his eyes slightly. Coran claps his shoulder approvingly, none the wiser.

“Good. Now get going. I know you’ve got midterms coming up so getting sleep is of utmost importance right now!”

“Ha, yeah, we’ll see how much sleep I get,” Keith laughs wryly. “Thanks, Coran!” 

He waves as he exits the diner, cool, crisp air ruffling through his hair and the silvery chime hanging above. The street is lively and clamorous with college students headed out for the night, and Keith does his best to avoid running into anyone with all the bags he’s carrying. It’s not dark yet, the nights settling late even in mid-September, and the sky is a vibrant, deep red, glazed in corals and lilacs. Keith tilts his head up while waiting at the crosswalk, allowing himself a moment just to look and breathe. It makes him wish he had his camera with him and a little more time, watching as a shard of moon appears softly behind a cloud.

Then the light turns green, and the foot traffic pushes him forward.

It’s a relatively short walk back to campus, but the fatigue weighs down on him when he arrives at the dorm, limbs aching and brain mushy like porridge.

 _Time to cram,_ Keith thinks dejectedly, shoving the food into the mini fridge and dumping his binder full of econ, physics, and anthropology notes onto his desk. Despite being a junior at this point, he still hasn’t settled on a major, opting to take a random assortment of gen-eds and whatever the hell catches his interest instead. It’s why his advisor keeps sending him passive aggressive emails every few weeks, and why he’s been avoiding calls from Shiro because he knows he’s just going to get the same, beaten down talk about his future for yet another depressing thirty minutes. 

It’s not like he’s _not_ worried about what he’s going to do after college. It’s just… Keith rubs his eyes from beneath his glasses, the problem set on Einstein’s field equations blurring into nonsensical scribbles. He really should be catching up on sleep instead of drilling more practice problems, but Keith knows he’s capable of doing well in his courses as long as he applies himself, and he’s always held himself to high standards. He genuinely likes physics, too, especially the concepts they’re learning about right now involving space.

He almost forgets about Lance until the boy shows up around 1am, this time carrying a laundry basket of clothes, bed sheets, and a stack of textbooks.

“They’ve officially kicked me out,” he announces, lower lip stuck petulantly out and eyes focused past Keith’s head. There’s a determined edge to his voice, an expectancy hanging at the end of his statement, just on the brink of wavering. When he shifts his eyes to meet Keith’s, they shine fierce and glossy, rimmed in red, as if he’d been crying.

As if he's… worried, that Keith might reject him.

Keith only raises a brow at him and steps aside without comment, now knowing that Lance isn’t an axe murderer at least. When he motions for Lance to come in, Lance breaks into a wide grin, puffing up visibly with relief. The speed at which his emotions shift makes Keith feel like he’s experiencing whiplash.

“Thanks. I brought muffins, as a peace offering,” Lance says as he shuffles in, setting his stuff down by the bed before tossing Keith a bag of muffins from Altea Bagels. Keith peeks inside and sees that they’re all chocolate, the kind that always runs out before noon.

“How’d you get your hands on so many of these?”

“Stole ‘em,” Lance answers flippantly, and Keith blanches on a bite, ready to throw the bag back at Lance until he laughs. “I’m kidding, kidding. Friend of mine works there, made those in fact. He hooks me up sometimes.”

Keith relaxes, but glares at the back of Lance’s head as he turns away. _This is what you get for being nice to strangers, Keith. They try to choke you with delicious baked goods._

Keith takes another bite of muffin anyway, watching Lance as he starts stripping the bed sheets off of Rolo’s bed, muttering under his breath along the way.

“Gross, so gross. Did Rolo ever wash his sheets?”

“Don’t think so,” Keith says around a mouthful of chocolate. Lance utters another noise of disgust before tugging his own sheets into place. They’re a spotless dark blue and smell like fresh lavender when Lance shakes them, unlike Rolo’s rank, gray sheets now strewn on the floor.

“Sooo, what, are you my new roommate now?” Keith asks — though judging by the way Lance is redecorating Rolo’s side of the room like he owns the place, Keith already knows the answer.

“Guess so. Rolo sure as hell ain’t coming back. He and my ex took over my single.”

Keith frowns. “That’s fucked. Why don’t you just report them?”

“Wow, you’re encouraging me to snitch on your roommate?”

“He’s kind of an ass, so yeah.”

Lance laughs at that, though the humor doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He quiets quickly, like he’s pondering the suggestion. It’s interesting, Keith notes, how he can go from a flurry of rapid motions to almost complete stillness.

“Nah,” Lance finally says. “I don’t want to get her in trouble, too.”

“Your ex? She kicked you out of your own room.”

“Yeah, well. I should’ve seen it coming when I gave her the spare key.”

Lance cracks his comforter over the bed with a particularly sharp movement, shoulders tense. Keith’s not the most socially in-tune, but even he can tell that he’s touched on a sensitive issue. He’s curious and itching to ask more, but he doesn’t know Lance, so it’s not in his place to pry. Which reminds him…

“You said I know you.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Lance doesn’t turn around as he throws two pillows onto the bed. “We had CHEM 101 lab together freshman year.”

Keith thinks back to freshman year first semester and vaguely remembers someone who looked like Lance, but lab at eight in the morning had always been a groggy blur for him. Hell, he can’t even remember the name of his current lab partner in physics, let alone someone from two years ago.

“You and your partner were always finishing up your labs first, beating Hunk and me,” Lance continues, leaning back down to pull more items from the laundry basket. A stuffed Beemo plushie emerges; Lance pats it with a fond smile before leveling Keith with a narrow glare. “It seriously pissed me off a lot.”

“Um, I’m sorry?”

Lance shrugs, nose upturned. “It’s whatever now. I just can’t believe you forgot our rivalry.”

“I don’t think it’s a rivalry if the rival wasn’t even aware of it.”

Lance clutches his heart and let’s out an over-the-top, wounded gasp. Keith rolls his eyes.

“Our rivalry was legendary, Keith, _legendary!_ The whole lab hour knew about us! Every Thursday morning bets were being placed to see who would finish their titration first, Lance and Keith, neck n’ neck!”

“ _Right_ , okay,” Keith agrees, if only to placate Lance. He resists the urge to laugh as Lance huffs indignantly, going back to reorganizing Rolo’s half of the room. “It’s been two years, man. Sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

“Excuses, excuses.” Lance tuts, waving his hand dismissively. “I’d recognize your mullet anywhere.”

At that, Keith can’t decide whether to scowl or blush. He settles for touching his hair instead, tugging at the thick strands a tad self-consciously.

He could use a haircut.

Still, Keith honestly can’t believe he completely forgot about Lance — surely he’d remember someone with an attitude this loud and eyes that blue. So he tries to get a better look this time, beneath the light and with a brain relatively functional. Lance is lanky and sun kissed, brown hair sticking up on ends, but he looks even more tired than last night, possibly more so than Keith. He’s sporting blue scrubs and a black t-shirt, a print of a corgi on it wearing sunglasses and riding a skateboard above the words “Hard Corg.”

Keith snorts, then promptly hacks up half a lung because the muffin he was chewing entered his wind pipe.

“Dude, you okay?”

Lance is by his side in an instant, assessing his coughing fit briefly before bending his back slightly forward. Keith feels the heel of Lance’s hand thump between his shoulder blades once, twice, before his throat clears up and a lump of brown mush splats wetly onto the crook of his arm.

“Ugh,” he groans, blinking blearily against the tears that had formed in his eyes. A paper towel quickly wipes the muffin debris off his arm and a water bottle is placed into his hand. He blinks again and sees Lance smiling at him, lopsided and amused, brows crinkled lightly in concern.

“Come on, drink up. Dude, I am _not_ bringing you muffins next time.”

Keith downs the water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling the burn of his cheeks most likely ruddy red with embarrassment.

“It was the shirt,” he mumbles. 

“What?”

“Your shirt.” Keith clears his throat and wills the heat away from his face. “Hard corg.” His mouth twitches around the words. Lance notices and lights up like Christmas.

“A quality shirt isn’t it?” he boasts, but his voice is tinged with more fondness than arrogance. “My little bro and sis got it for me. It always gets a good laugh when I wear it to clinic.”

Lance smiles again, and this time Keith’s brain short circuits on the way his eyes soften, edges winking silver. Patterned lines flicker across the apples of his cheeks, reminding Keith of contrails and cat whiskers. His fingers twitch around a phantom shutter, and he misses the beat to respond, to ask more questions, too caught up in the quirks and openness of Lance’s expression.

“Anyway, I hope you don’t mind me crashing here for a bit. I really don’t have anywhere else to go, so, you know. I’d really appreciate it.”

Now of all times, after he’s basically moved in, Lance finds the common sense to look a bit sheepish. He rubs the back of his neck, that same, unsure look shown to Keith at the doorway pulling on the corners of his crooked grin. If Keith wasn’t still so caught off guard by the Lance-ness of it all, he’d laugh and probably choke on another muffin. Yet, despite Lance’s dramatics — his loudness, cockiness, and possible delusion of some epic rivalry — he didn’t seem like a bad guy. Better than Rolo by far, at least.

So Keith finds himself saying, “Sure thing,” and watches with amusement as Lance’s face lights up again. He tells himself that he’s just doing what any good samaritan and helpful former classmate would do. That Shiro and Allura would be proud of him for being so accommodating and nice. That he owes Lance a favor anyway after he saved him from the mutinous muffin.

It’s not because his eyes are so damn blue that Keith has trouble looking away from them.

No, really. It’s not. 

“Roomie?” Lance extends his hand. Keith shakes it with a smile.

“Roomie.” 

 

&

 

Rooming with Lance turns out to be… Surprisingly uneventful.

Not that Keith was expecting anything.

Midterms steal away most of his time; he’s either in the library writing a paper or in class taking an exam, and he only goes back to the dorm as a necessity for showering and scrounging on leftovers. There’s not much space left in his brain or day to be dealing with the weird nursing student who’s currently rooming with him, although Lance himself is hardly ever in the dorm either. In fact, during the first week with Lance, they only run into each other once at the door, and all Lance said to him before sprinting away was: “Dude, you need to do something about your pores.”

Asshole.

Lance brings him muffins at the end of the week though.

“Congrats, you survived!” he crows, loud as ever when he enters the room and flicks on the light. Keith lets out a muffled groan before pushing himself up from his prostrate position, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. After finishing his last exam, he had promptly passed out, and judging by the clock and how dark it was outside, he had been dead asleep for a blessed five hours.

“Oops, sorry to wake you. I should’ve figured you’d be catching up on sleep.” Lance drops the bag of muffins on Keith’s pillow and smiles apologetically.

“S’okay, thanks,” Keith manages to croak in response. He grabs the water bottle by the bedside and downs the whole thing, crumpling the plastic. “How’d your exams go?”

Lance clambers onto his own bed, sprawling out like a starfish. The Beemo plushie sitting on his pillow topples over, and he stretches out to hug it while thumbing on the light switch by the headboard.

Strings of Christmas lights twinkle to life, illuminating the grid of polaroids decorating his side of the wall. Gradually throughout the week, it seems that Lance had moved the rest of his stuff into the room. There’s a homeliness to the space now that hadn’t been present before; Rolo had always been too much of a slob and Keith never saw the point of decorating a place he only temporarily lived in. But the Christmas lights, the patchwork quilt hanging off Lance’s chair, the photos and all the other little trinkets — they’re nice. There are stories there that Keith could learn from.

“Didn’t have any,” says Lance. His voice sounds cheerful, but judging by the slumped line of his body and the bruises beneath his eyes, he’s just as exhausted as Keith is. “My exams are more staggered throughout the month, so I don’t really have a midterm week. I was busy though, yeah.”

“What were you doing?”

“Just the usual.” Lance shrugs. “But I had a big presentation to give on eating disorders and a paper due this week, so I basically lived at the nursing school. Sorry I wasn’t around much.”

“Nice of you to assume that I missed your presence.”

“Hey, I know you wanna bond, Kogane.” Lance waggles his eyebrows, and it’s easily one of the most absurd, fascinating things Keith has ever had the misfortune of seeing. “How was your week, by the way? Couldn’t have been worse than mine.”

Lance rolls onto his side and fixes his gaze on Keith, expression honest and curious. Keith’s heart rate picks up a notch, not used to that kind of devoted attention directed at him, but it evens out when talking to Lance turns out to be a lot easier than expected. The conversation flows naturally between them, punctuated by the occasional snark thrown here and there. Keith knows his dry humor can sometimes be taken the wrong way, but Lance rolls with the punches, responding with his own brand of wit like a challenge.

The banter is fun. It’s more than Keith’s ever talked to Rolo or any of his past roommates, for that matter.

“Anyway, now that we’re both done with hell week, I say we work on those pores of yours then get wasted on froyo.” Lance bounces off the bed, a seemingly random surge of energy propelling him forward. He sticks the landing with a flourish, and if Keith wasn’t feeling antsy all of a sudden he’d roll his eyes and humor him with mock applause.

“What is with you and my pores? Leave them alone.”

“Nuh-uh, no way, you’ve got good skin and I’m not gonna let you ruin it!”

 _He thinks I have good skin? Shit, no, don’t get distracted._ “Don’t you dare come over here,” Keith threatens, watching Lance’s every movement warily. The lanky boy is rifling through his desk drawers, pulling out solution bottles, a small black tub, and some cotton pads.

“Oh, don’t be a wuss, Keith,” he sing-songs. “I’m just gonna teach you basic facial care.”

“I’m not a _wuss_.”

“Why are you cowering on the bed then? Scared of getting pampered by some face masks?”

Keith scowls, jolting up from his (admittedly, cowering) position against the wall. He knows Lance is baiting him and being very effective at it, but he’s not _scared_. He just doesn’t want Lance anywhere near his face for… Reasons.

“Fine, but I’m doing it myself and I’m not gonna like it.”

“Ha! Whatever’ll make you feel better, Mullet.”

Turns out, Keith cannot apply a simple face mask by himself, almost going blind when he rubs the cold, peppery sludge too close to his eyes. Lance winds up doing damage control, cackling like a pompous jackass the whole way through. Okay, not really, but he does laugh for a solid minute before helping Keith reapply the gunk over his face.

Pride sufficiently wounded, Keith sits still as Lance covers his eyes with cucumber slices, too. When he tries to eat one, Lance shrieks and calls him a neanderthal. The whole ordeal is kind of stupid — perfectly good cucumbers are being wasted and the face mask feels like it’s scraping off the top layer of his skin, which is probably the point — but it’s also not terrible. Keith does learn a few more things about Lance during the process after all, like:

One, he wears a pink, bow-shaped headband when he washes his face.

Two, he’s got freckles, peeking out from underneath his oversized shirt when it slips off his shoulder.

And three, when he helps Keith pat his face dry with a towel, the gesture is slow and gentle. For how hard Lance had been ribbing him, the soft motions startle Keith a little, and he hopes Lance mistakes the color on his cheeks for the face mask burning his skin cells off, or something. 

“I do this all the time with my siblings, and they’re just as hopeless you are.” Lance ruffles his slightly wet bangs for good measure, laughing as Keith scowls and tries to bat him away. He pinches Keith’s cheek with a shit-eating grin. “See? Smooth as a baby’s bottom now.”

Yeah, maybe he’d be willing to endure this torture again.

True to his word, Lance drags Keith out for froyo afterwards, all the way down to the hole in the wall yogurt pump on Kerberos street. There, he meets Hunk and Pidge, Lance’s two best friends. “My Klaus and my Violet,” Lance introduces them proudly. Pidge, five feet nothing with frizzy hair like a lightning storm, snorts and pushes up their glasses. 

“Let me guess: Hunk’s Violet, I’m Klaus, and you’re Sunny.”

“Eeeeggs-sactly, Pidgeot.”

“Apt,” Pidge nods, and they share a fist bump in a complicated series of steps that has Keith’s eyes crossing.

“Keith, right?” asks the boy on Lance’s right. He extends out his hand, large and callused and covered in Iron Man bandaids. “I’m Hunk. Thanks for taking Lance in.”

“He didn’t really give me a choice.” Keith smirks, shaking Hunk’s hand. Hunk laughs good-naturedly.

“Yeah I bet. He can be a handful.”

“Understatement of the century,” Pidge mutters. Lance lets out an indignant squawk.

“Hey, I resent that! I’ve been a spectacular roommate! Roommate of the year!”

“Tell that to my microwave you set on fire sophomore year.”

“And that raccoon you let loose into the dorm that ate away all the girl’s shower curtains.”

“Pidge, I thought we pinky promised that was ancient history!”

“Why only the girl’s?” asks Keith, attention rapt much to Lance’s dismay.

“Cause Romeo here thought it would be nice to gift a raccoon to our—”

“Ooookay, story time over!” Lance says, a tad hysterically, shoving his hand in front of Pidge’s mouth. “Pidge, stop licking my hand. You know that won’t work on me, you heathen.”

Pidge blows what sounds like an exceptionally wet raspberry against Lance’s hand. Hunk passes him a napkin sympathetically.

Keith decides he likes the both of them right away.

They stay at the frozen yogurt shop until closing, talking nonstop about classes and professors to avoid and Lance’s embarrassing misadventures (“That you guys were willing participants of!” Lance stresses). Keith learns that Hunk’s a mechanical engineering major and Pidge’s double majoring in BME and computer science, not to mention two years younger than the rest of them despite being a junior, too. They had met Lance during Fall Fest of freshman year when all three got dragged on stage for a dance off. The rest after that, they say, is history.

When the two heard that Lance had gotten kicked out of his own room, they wouldn’t let him house with them because they live in the engineering fraternity — the one well known on campus for nearly exploding every other week. Pidge and Hunk had concluded that adding a klutz like Lance in there would’ve only increased the risk factor exponentially, so it was for the safety of the whole school that they turned him away from their humble abode. 

“Or so they claim,” Lance says, pointing an accusatory spoon at Hunk and Pidge sitting across the table. “I can’t believe you two would abandon me like that in my time of need.” 

“Lance, as much as I adore your presence, letting you live with us would be a certified disaster,” Pidge deadpans. Hunk nods vigorously in agreement.

“You’d either break a fuel cell engine or accidentally destabilize the particle barrier, and then we’d all die in the cold, dark vacuum of space.”

Lance drops his spoon back into his empty frozen yogurt cup, pouting in defeat. “All right, that’s fair.”

Hunk reaches over to pat his hand soothingly. “You’re still welcome to come over on the weekends to play Splatoon, of course.”

“Bro. I love you.” Lance’s eyes are sparkling with real tears.

“I love you too, bro.”

“Anyway,” Pidge says, rolling their eyes. “I still think you should report them for hijacking your room, Lance. That was a bitch move, especially from Nyma.”

Keith watches carefully as Lance’s mouth twists down, body tensing in that minute way Keith now recognized. He feigns nonchalance by moving again, tossing his cup into the trash with a well aimed shot and keeping his voice light.

“Pidge, you never liked Nyma.”

“So?”

“So, you’re biased.”

Pidge bristles. “And for good reason! Look how she’s treating you!”

“Hey, I’m used to the ladies beating around my bush, if you know what I mean.”

“ _Ugh_ , Lance! This situation’s entirely different and you know it.”

Lance’s expression goes hard, posture stiffening. “Pidge, I’ll deal with it the way I want to, when I want to, okay? Besides, it’s not like I don’t have any place to go in the meantime.”

Lance turns to look at Keith, and there’s that vulnerability in his eyes again, despite the firm set of his jaw. Keith wonders if Lance is ever capable of truly hiding all his emotions, everything left open in that endless blue. He figures Lance is still worried he’ll get kicked out a second time, but if Lance is getting to know Keith like Keith’s getting to know him, he should already know that that won’t happen. Keith never goes back on his word.

“I don’t mind him staying with me for however long. It’s cool.”

Lance’s expression melts into a sunny smile, some of the tenseness leaving his shoulders, and Keith returns a small smile of his own. He hears Pidge sigh.

“All right, but if she hurts you again, I’m going to shank her.”

Lance reaches over to pull them into a hug. “Aww, Pidge, I knew you cared about me.” Pidge grumbles a few expletives under their breath, but hugs him tightly back. Lance’s voice goes soft and void of teasing, smile fond: “Thanks.”

Hunk sniffles, getting out of his seat with arms open wide. “Okay, bring it in people, group hug. And pass me some tissues.”

Lance and Pidge laugh as they’re lifted clean off the floor in one arm, and — much to his surprise — Keith’s pulled up by the other.

“Hunk, you big, soft teddy bear.”

“Help, I can’t breathe!”

“This is nice,” Keith says, genuine wonder in his voice. It’s the first hug he’s had in a long while. It’s the first group hug he’s ever been in.

“Keith, is this the first group hug you’ve ever been in?” Lance asks, eyes wide. Keith nods. Hunk’s sniffles turn into heartfelt wails.

“Oh no, I’m really crying now.”

“C’mere, my man,” Lance says, and before he knows it, Keith’s at the center of a warm and slightly wet (thanks Hunk) group hug, a feeling in his chest too full and weighted for his ribs to contain. Maybe he did get wasted on froyo. Maybe he’s high off exhaustion fumes and those weird tasting strawberry chunks at the bottom of his cup. Or maybe he’s just been lonely for too long but too stubborn to admit it. Either way, when Pidge pokes his middle and Lance laughs at him, laughs with him, all Keith can feel is overwhelmed and new.

Hopeful.

 

&

 

Somehow over the next month, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge all become his friends. Really good friends in fact, which is weird because Keith’s only ever had acquaintances he gets along with from his classes and the gym.

With the trio though, something must have miraculously clicked, because before long, Keith feels like he’s known them for the span of months rather than just weeks. They stop and talk whenever they run into each other on campus and they all get dinner together every other night. He forms a study group with Hunk and his girlfriend Shay after finding out that they share the same god-awful physics professor, and he receives a morning meme a day from Pidge after trading phone numbers.

Keith finds out that Hunk’s not only the greatest cook alive but also has the entire Hamilton musical memorized. Pidge, on the other hand, can’t cook or rap to save their life, but is the only one who understands Keith’s conspiracy theories about Area 51, and shares the same dry, wicked sense of humor they use together to torture Lance with.

Lance.

Lance, especially. Everyday, it seems like Keith learns something new about him. Like how he hogs the shower and wakes up 30 minutes early just to go through his skin care regime. Or how he owns 5 sets of scrubs yet no matching socks, that he has a bizarre love for pineapple pizza, that his veins are basically made up of espresso shots and chai, which apparently powers him through his insane schedule that puts even Keith’s to shame, because Lance doesn’t seem to understand the concept of slowing down or stopping to take a breath.

He’s gone all day on Tuesdays for his 12 hour rotation, doesn’t even sleep on his day off Wednesday cause he holes himself up in the library, works night shifts as a CNA on Thursdays and Sundays, _somehow_ manages to visit the kids at the oncology clinic in between —

He’s vice president of the largest hospital volunteering organization on campus, attends swim club whenever he finds the time — “So that it doesn’t seem like I just live in the hospital twenty-four seven,” Lance had said — and still has the energy to drag Keith’s ass out every Friday and Saturday night.

(“Why nursing?” Keith asks during one of those nights, after they’ve broken into the football stadium, drinking and sitting on the bleachers, trying to spot the stars. Keith had thought of bringing his camera with him, but then shoved it back into his closet; out of sight, out of mind.

“It gets all the ladies, duh,” Lance says, sprawling length-wise across the bench. The top of his head brushes Keith’s thigh. 

“Yeah, right,” Keith snorts, seeing right past him. Lance may insist on acting like a playboy, but from the embarrassing stories Hunk has told, and knowing how hard Lance works, the boy is anything but.

You don’t work that hard for a flippant answer like that. You work that hard because it’s your passion, something worth more than yourself, something Keith recognizes because it’s exactly what he’s still searching desperately for.

Lance huffs a laugh. “Okay, yeah, you’re right. I like helping people, and when my mom was fighting breast cancer, the nurses at the hospital took really good care of her. So I guess I’ve known since little that being a nurse, or being in the healthcare field in general I guess, was something that I wanted to do.” He sits back up, hand coming to rest right next to Keith’s, and looks and him in the semi-dark.

His eyes are still so endlessly blue.

“What about you?”

Keith blinks. “What about me?”

“Your major, or what you want to do once we’re out of here.” Lance tilts his head, expectant, but Keith shifts away, closes off. He offers a wry smile, and hopes Lance will understand.

“Still… Figuring it out.”)

Lance tries to Skype with his family as often as possible, speaking in rapid fire Spanish that makes Keith wish he had studied the language better in high school. He learns that Lance grew up in Havana, Cuba before moving to Santa Monica at age six, that he has a cow named Klinefelter and a cat named Blue. That he’s the middle child in a bunch of five, that it wasn’t easy sending him out-of-state for college, that they made the ends meet because Altea University 3,000 miles away from home has the best nursing program in the country.

He thinks maybe that’s why Lance has this look of guilt on his face sometimes — another reason for why he works so relentlessly, nonstop, so that he knows the hard earned money that his parents are spending on his education is worth it — Keith knows it’s worth it, seeing how dedicated Lance is, how much he cares. 

Because when Lance cares about something, he’s a stubborn son of a bitch. Like he’ll stop in the middle of the sidewalk in the pouring rain just to move a worm out of harm’s path, or he’ll run the whole two miles to CVS right before class to get Pidge tampons and painkillers when their period catches them off-guard. He’ll keep Keith up until two going over blood pressure drills and contact procedures he’s practiced over a thousand times, whine until Keith agrees to get Wendy’s with him around three, steals all of Keith’s fries by four, and was so delirious once around five that he started flirting with the automatic water fountain, making Keith laugh until he had stitches in his sides. 

He’s not afraid to yell at Keith — call him a hot head for fighting with the TA when he should’ve just emailed the professor, call him a dumb ass for pouring the milk first, for drinking apple juice instead of orange, for making him watch terrible infomercials even though Keith didn’t ask him to, please, Lance just wanted to know what a Tiddy Bear is, too —

Lance has no concept of personal space, fucks with Keith’s sleep schedule even more than it’s already fucked — drives him up the wall, drives him down the hall in a shopping cart just cause — makes Keith laugh, makes Keith forget about what he’s anxious about, makes Keith remember to take the trash out, to know that he’s part of a group now — 

Lance is infuriating and obnoxious and loud. Lance is comforting and funny and quiet. Some days too quiet. Some nights too exhausted.

Some nights, Lance has nightmares, because of a boy he couldn’t save after witnessing a car crash, waiting for the EMTs to arrive, and Keith hears his cut off sobs in the dark when he wakes up, the shuffle of his slippers as he leaves the room and stays gone for an hour before coming back.

Keith waits up for him every time. 

He learns that Lance is actually pretty beat up about Nyma, that they had been dating for over a year, that Lance had no idea she had been cheating on him with Rolo for at least half of that time.

“Or, maybe I did know, but I just didn’t want to care,” Lance says one night, during one of their 2am Wendy’s runs. His voice is casual, detached; Keith gapes at him as he dunks two fries into his chocolate frosty and chews them slowly.

“Lance, what the fuck. That’s messed up.”

“I know, I know, but…” Lance swipes his mouth clean and crumples the napkin in his hand, staring at the line at the service counter, not meeting Keith’s eyes.

“She was the best damn thing that happened to me when I was going through a really tough time. And she actually _liked_ me, you know, I…“ Lance laughs, but it’s a humorless, empty sound. “I just wanted to be happy with her, even if it was wrong.”

And sometimes, like now, Keith remembers that cocky, self-assured Lance is mostly an act. That the Lance he’s grown to know, grown to call a friend, isn’t as confident as he tries to show off. Lance is all talk and no bite, flirts like a fiend but has only ever had two serious relationships in his life. Lance can pretend to be a douchebag as much as he wants, but when it comes down to the bone he’s kind to a fault. Gives his heart too easily, too much.

Keith knows Lance deserves better, deserves more than the false love Nyma gave him, yet somehow Lance doesn’t see it, won’t believe it himself. It frustrates Keith to no end. It makes him hate his scumbag ex-roommate tenfold.

“You’ll get wrinkles if you frown so much, Mullet,” he hears Lance say. A finger prods at his forehead, smoothing the crease between his brows. “Don’t worry about the stuff between Nyma and me. It’s not a big deal anymore.”

 _How is it not a big deal when you’re still not over it? Over_ her, Keith tries to think, but the thought is too bitter to hold. Lance is his friend now, and Keith will be damned if anyone else hurts him.

“Lance—” he starts to say, taking Lance’s hand to move it away from his face, squeezing it in what he hopes to be a comforting gesture. Lance shakes his head, fingers gently twisting around Keith’s before letting them fall in between.

“Tell me about how you think you saw Bigfoot again? Cause honestly that sounds like a wet dream you’d have at thirteen.”

Lance smiles, a soft pleading in his eyes, so Keith lets it go.

 

&

 

He still hasn’t called back home, but Shiro’s called him a few times. Allura, too. He picks up only once, because Lance had been with him during the time, casting him confused looks when Keith continued to ignore the ringtone.

He answers but keeps it short; tries to forget how sad Shiro had sounded when he cuts him off with a hurried goodbye and an obviously phony excuse.

Keith knows he can’t avoid the talk forever. They’re well into the semester, almost the end of October, and if he doesn’t decide on a major soon, he might have to become a five year senior, which isn’t the end of the world, but…

He’d rather graduate on time, so that he can avoid accumulating even more debt, and so that he can walk the ceremony with Pidge, Hunk, and Lance. 

“Hey, everything okay?” Lance asks, peering at him from behind his textbook. Keith bites his cheek.

“Yeah, yeah everything’s cool.” He pushes his glasses back up, feigning concentration. “Might need Hunk’s help again with these physics problems, though.”

Lance stares at him for a while longer, before picking up his phone to text Hunk to come over. Keith lets out an imperceptible sigh, leg jostling nervously underneath his desk.

On Halloween, the campus is buzzing and restless. The word on social media is that there’s a giant carrot running amuck with a mad scientist hot on his trail shouting, “Stop that carrot!” Keith’s half asleep in ECON 431 when they break past the doors, tripping through the backpacks in the aisle to the front of the lecture hall. They run circles around Professor Swirn, and Keith bursts out laughing when he realizes it’s Lance and Pidge.

“Please sign up to donate your platelets at the cancer hospital in the quad today!” Lance shouts over the thunderous cheering. “Save a life if you can’t save mine— Aaah!” He lets out a convincing shriek as Pidge lunges for him, fleeing towards the exit with Pidge cackling right behind. It’s a weird, absurd gimmick, but it does the trick, seeing how full the quad is when Keith walks over to sign up himself.

“Dude, did you see Professor Ulaz’s face when you ran in there?” Hunk asks later when they’re all gathered in the dining hall for a late lunch. He’d been in robotics lab when the costumed duo broke in, wreaking havoc on the finicky AI prototypes. Lance and Pidge are both out of costume now, although Lance still has his ridiculous orange leggings on. Keith tries not to stare, but it’s really hard when Lance’s legs are so long and sculpted that they somehow, miraculously, make even neon, orange tights look good.

“I didn’t know the human face was capable of turning that shade of purple. He might report you and Pidge, you know.”

“Worth it.” Lance grins, goofy and unabashed. He slumps down further into the booth, head coming to rest against Keith’s shoulder. Keith nudges him, feigning annoyance, but Lance only snuggles closer and looks up at him through thick, dark lashes.

Keith coughs, turning away to stab at his lettuce. “Whose idea was it to dress like that anyway? Shay told me Pidge chasing you around campus wasn’t a planned promotion for the platelet drive.”

“Party at the oncology clinic,” Lance explains, snatching a sweet potato fry off his plate. “I lost a bet with Erin and promised her I’d show up in a carrot costume on Halloween.”

“And I promised to be Dexter from Dexter’s Laboratory,” Pidge adds in, not looking up from their Nintendo DS.

“Thought we’d help Shay out while we were at it. Worked out great, I’d say.” Lance high fives Pidge’s outstretched palm.

“We should thank Erin for the great costuming choice.”

“Yeah, I’ll ask her mom if I can bring her carrot cake. Kid loves carrots and mad scientists, for some reason.”

Keith swats at Lance’s hand when he tries to go for another fry. “There are weirder things to love, Lance.”

“Pfft, yeah, like you and your love for the Loch Ness monster.”

“Hey.” Keith frowns. “Nessie’s a good girl.”

Lance pushes himself off his shoulder and stares him dead in the eye. “Keith, Nessie doesn’t exist.”

Keith gasps. “You take that back!”

“I’m just saying, the evidence doesn’t corroborate—!”

“Pidge, Lance says Nessie doesn’t exist!”

Pidge’s head whips up from their game console so fast Keith swears he hears their neck crack. “Lance Arnaldo Espinosa Méndez how _fucking dare y_ —”

“Jesus, Pidge!” Lance shrieks as Pidge starts crawling over the table to Keith’s assistance, bless their heart. Lance looks positively petrified.

“There are centuries worth of completely legitimate, verifiable evidence that Nessie, our big, beautiful—”

“Hunk, help me, please!”

“Uh, sorry dude, gotta, um, go put the finishing touches on my costume with Shay, yup! Good luck!”

“Betrayal!” Lance wails as he tries to hide from Pidge’s wrath, curling under the table and burying his face into Keith’s lap. Keith laughs and laughs. 

They start getting ready together for the annual Halloween event on Kerberos street after classes, Lance dressing up as Star-Lord and Keith and Pidge as the Men in Black. By the time they arrive, the event’s already in full swing, hundreds of costumes and spectators milling about, the heavy bass of a DJ resonating from a frat house. Hunk and Shay steal the show, though, when they appear later in the evening operating an Iron Man suit in full Hulkbuster armor. The costume is a work of art, an almost exact replica from the movie. Everyone clammers around them, begging for selfies and videos. Pidge has to break away to act as a bodyguard, letting all the younger kids take photos first ahead of the pushy adults.

“Hunk and Shay really outdid themselves this year,” Lance says, whistling appreciatively. Keith still hasn’t managed to pry his jaw off the floor.

“Did they do this every year?” he asks, marveling at the sheer size and genius of the costume.

“Nah, not freshman year, since Hunk and Shay hadn’t known each other then.” Lance pauses to take a look at Keith’s face, laughing at his frozen expression. He grabs his arm and starts pulling him in the other direction, where there are more costumes arriving. “Last year they came as life-size versions of Lego Batman and Superman, which made them pretty popular, too.”

“That’s incredible,” Keith says, earnest amazement in his voice. Lance grins at him, eyes twinkling, and hooks his arm around Keith’s shoulders. They walk further down the street, pointing out all the crazy, fantastic, or straight up weird costumes they see. They get stopped a couple times to take pictures, and Lance accepts or asks for selfies with almost everyone: a horde of T-rexes, a pair of chopsticks, power rangers, random onlookers, even someone dressed as a porter potty. He strikes the most ridiculous poses, dabbing left and right, making it hard for Keith to keep the phone still as he tries to capture each look. 

“You are so lame,” he says, biting his cheek not to laugh. Lance sticks his tongue out at him in his most mature and serious comeback face, before proceeding to do… Whatever the hell he’s doing, Keith’s not sure. He does drop into a very impressive split, though, which causes even more cameras to go off around him. Keith also takes one. Begrudgingly, of course.

A group of frat bros runs past, clad in togas that leave little to the imagination. A few are carrying girls on top of their shoulders, similarly dressed down in white cloth and angel wings. One of the boys slows down, the girl perched on his shoulders flipping off gracefully. She’s gorgeous, all honeyed hair and sea foam eyes, lips painted dark red. A halo circles the crown of her head.

“Nyma.”

The name snaps Keith’s attention back to Lance, who’s standing just as frozen as Keith was earlier, only not at all in amazement. There’s something akin to horror on his face, paling rapidly as Nyma walks towards them.

“Hey, Lance.” Nyma says, the words slipping smooth and sultry from her curved mouth. A bright flush stains her cheeks, her skin wreaks of alcohol. “How’s my favorite star boy?” 

Lance doesn’t answer — _can’t_ answer, jaw clenched tightly and hands curled into fists by his sides. Nyma croons. “Aww, what’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

Lance only stares at her, blue eyes blown wide and flickering. Despite living in the same dorm, Keith knows that Lance has been trying his best to avoid Nyma at all costs. Judging by his reactions, it seems that he’s been pretty successful at it, too, right up until now, at least.

The moment stretches until it becomes unbearable. Keith steps in between, not really thinking, only knowing that he needed to shield Lance from the person hurting him. 

“Who’s this?” Nyma’s attention shifts over, dark eyes narrowing. Her make-up is smudged, the red of her lipstick morphing into something garish and cruel. She’s not as pretty as she is at first glance. “Moving on from me already, Lance?”

“You’re in no position to say that.” Keith hears himself say, sharp as a knife’s edge. He feels the shock run through Lance beside him, watches the surprise flit across Nyma’s face. He doesn’t take the statement back.

“Oh?” Is all Nyma says in answer, a slow smile stretching her lips. Keith can’t discern the meaning behind it, doesn’t get a chance to ponder it further because Lance finally moves against him, fingers linking around his.

“Have a good night, Nyma,” he says stiffly, voice devoid of any inflection. “Remember not to drink too much.”

With that, he walks away, pulling Keith with him. Faintly, Keith thinks he hears Nyma call after them — call after Lance. They don’t stop until they’re out of the crowd though, secluded on the quiet steps of a church with only a few others around them. Lance just stands there for a moment, stock still, expression indecipherable in the darkness. It makes Keith anxious.

Suddenly, he collapses onto the ground, letting out a loud, despairing groan that scares away everyone within the vicinity. One hand is still holding onto Keith’s, while the other is covering up his face. Keith hunches down beside him, thumb brushing his knuckles in slow, soothing patterns, deciding not to say anything until Lance feels comfortable.

“Thanks,” Lance eventually says, almost inaudible against the sleeve of his jacket.

“For what?” Keith doesn’t feel like he’d done anything useful. Clearly, Lance is still very upset.

“For standing up for me back there when I didn’t have the balls to.” Lance falls backwards from the soles of his feet, toppling Keith’s balance, too. They sit in a pile on the cold cement, legs bracketing each other’s. “ _Ugh_ , that was seriously so pathetic of me, Jesus, _why_ did we run into her there’s like ten thousand people on this campus what the _fuck_ —”

“Hey, hey. Breathe.” Keith takes Lance’s other hand and pulls it away from his face. Then wishes he hadn’t, because Lance’s expression is absolutely miserable.

“I thought I was over her,” he says, so faint that Keith almost misses it. “I really did.”

Keith winces in sympathy and tightens his grip around Lance’s hands. He ignores the hallow feeling in his own chest, wracks his brain for the best way to comfort Lance instead. Keith’s never been through a serious break up himself, but pain is all the same at the base of it. Whenever Shiro went through a break up, or got rejected from a job because of his arm, they’d go on a drive in the middle of the night. Fly down the empty, open highway, windows down, stars wheeling above. Those were the only times Shiro ever allowed himself to be reckless, to escape from whatever it was that was troubling him.

There’s no escape in this small college town, though. No desolate highway to drive endlessly on. Lance will need a different sort of distraction, one that Keith has to find. He thinks of his motorbike, of all the places he could take them. He thinks of his camera, and the way his mom used to smile when they looked at the photos he took together.

Photos.

Keith scoots closer, pulling out his phone from the recess of his pocket. Steels his breath.

“Want to go through all the pictures I took of you and be reminded of how utterly cool and totally out of Nyma’s league you are?”

A beat.

Then, Lance’s mouth breaks around a small smile.

“Keith, did you just say I’m ‘utterly cool’?”

Keith vehemently ignores the hot flush that spreads from the top of his head down his neck. “I’m not repeating it.”

“Too bad, it’s stuck in my head forever now. I’m never letting you live this down.” 

Keith bumps his head gently against Lance’s, letting him know just how exasperated (but fond) he is. Lance releases a small, breathy laugh, and the embarrassment cools.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he says, moving closer to lean against Keith’s shoulder. He does it so easily, folding into the space, fitting like a puzzle. It’s bad for Keith’s heart, this careless habit of his. Keith winds up messing up the lock combination on his phone six times before finally opening it.

“Keith, these are really good, what the heck,” Lance says when they flip through the first couple pictures. “I didn’t know the camera on a phone could do this.”

“It’s just the lighting and the angle,” Keith says, trying for modest despite the warm flutter in his chest. It’s been a long time since anyone’s said that to him.

“These make me look like I’m in a professional photoshoot, though. Damn.” Lance keeps thumbing through the photos, blue eyes glowing in the light of the screen. He scrolls past the end and winds up back at the beginning, and after a moment’s hesitation, Keith decides not to stop him. There are hundreds of pictures dating back to the beginning of college: every sunrise and sunset, the campus in bloom during the spring, Coran and his coworkers at the diner, Shiro and Allura on their anniversary.

They sit on the cement and go through all the photos, moving to the ice cream shop halfway through to wait for Pidge. Lance compliments him endlessly, every word sincere and full of curiosity. Keith feels almost overwhelmed, trying his best to maintain a steady voice as he answers Lance’s questions about exposure and editing and so forth.

By the end of the night, he’s not sure who comforted who, the warmth inside his chest spilling over with Lance’s smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest thing I’ve ever written, and it's still not even done (ayiyii), which is why I've made the decision to break it into 3 parts. I haven't gone back to edit it, which I’ll probably regret in the near future, lol. 
> 
> The premise of this fic was inspired by a Bellamy fic I read a long while back where they were also forced to be roommates by weird ex-girlfriend/boyfriend circumstances and stealing beds. Rest is inspired by my own college experiences and the existential crises I endure once a day thanks to my major. Shoutout to my roommate as well who’s currently a busy af nursing student. 
> 
> I named Lance after the first Cuban astronaut in space, and read somewhere that Spanish naming customs places the paternal family name first then the maternal family name second. Correct me if I’m wrong, though; I’m still learning. If there are any other details you take issue with, please let me know in the comments below and I’ll make the edit. Other comments or constructive criticisms are more than welcome, too!! I will send virtual cake <3 
> 
> If you made it this far, thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it. I'll try to update as soon as possible, although college, as always, will delay it /shakes fist


	2. Chapter 2

Keith picks up his camera again.

At first, he doesn’t do much with it, just takes it with him wherever he goes. It’s an old, familiar weight, but it doesn’t feel as much of a burden as it did before. The impulse to capture an image, a moment, comes as easily and unconsciously as breathing. Before he even realizes, his fossilized memory card fills up to the brim, flooded with thousands upon thousands of photographs. 

It’s only natural, he supposes, when the campus is so beautiful on any given day, even on the drearily rainy ones. The moment is there in the way the sky opens up after a thunderstorm, gleaming and breathlessly blue. How the sunlight filters through the trees, the scatter of amber leaves underfoot, the cool balm of periwinkle dusk. It’s in the tired, sleepy glow of the diner on a late night, or how the moon, bright as a pearl, hangs in the sky.

It’s Hunk with oil smudged across his cheeks, his belly-deep smile and callused hands, him and Shay sprawled across each other on the quad, murmuring contently against each other beneath the sun. It’s Pidge buried under a heap of robotic limbs, or with Twizzlers tucked into their ears, laughing until they’re snorting milk from their nose because they’re gross and wonderful like that. Like the younger sibling Keith never had.

Mostly, though. Mostly, he finds himself taking pictures of Lance.

Lance in all his ever-changing familiarity, his expressions that never fail to captivate Keith. Like how he bites his lips when he’s concentrating, or the different ways his eyebrows quirk when he’s bemused or frustrated or angry. How his whole body shakes when he laughs, his long, smooth fingers tapping against the table, his monkey ears reddening with embarrassment. His warm, sun-kissed skin and lazuli eyes. The way he looks when he wakes up. The way he looks softened in sunrise.

Or like now. Lance scrunched up in his chair in the library, hair a wild mess and eyes fever bright, scribbling madly over his notes as he works. He’s tucked into his favorite olive hoodie, the one with the fraying sleeves that he’s had since high school. They cover his hands, like sweater paws, and he’s chewing on his lip again, pouting at the problem that has him stumped.

The image tugs at Keith’s chest; he can’t resist not snapping a secretive shot.

Well, secret if it weren’t for the sound of the shutter giving him away.

“Keith, did you just take a picture of me?” Lance asks, pausing in his furious scribbling.

“Yup,” Keith replies smoothly while setting his camera aside, because he’s done this enough times now to know that he can get away with it. Lance’s candid shots are Keith’s favorites, and it’s just an added bonus that it annoys Lance a little bit.

Lance tosses his pencil down and throws his hands up to cover his face. “Oh my god, whhhyyyy, I look so gross right now.”

 _Cute. You look cute._ “Your confused face was too funny not to document.”

Lance pulls the hood over his head and tugs the strings, effectively blocking his entire face save for the tip of his nose and his mouth. Keith snaps a picture of that, too, because it’s too adorable not to.

“I hate you,” Lance says, sticking his tongue out from the hole of his hoodie hide-out. “I regret everything I’ve ever said to you.”

Keith rolls his eyes, and scoots closer to pull Lance toward him by the strings of his hoodie. He tugs the hood open and pushes it off, revealing a softly grumpy and mussed up Lance. His brown hair is fluffed on all sides, and the tips of his ears are red. Again, something aches in Keith’s chest at the sight. He recognizes the feeling, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Not now, at least. Not when spending days and nights like this with Lance is so easy and comfortable, even if it hurts a little worse sometimes.

“Then you regret saying you hate me,” Keith says, the words come out more seriously than he intended. His breath catches when he sees Lance’s gaze fall half-lidded, liquid warm and blinking flecks of gold. 

“Only slightly,” he says, smile curving in that soft, crooked way of his. Keith can’t hear or feel anything beyond the pounding of his heart.

Someone coughs.

They snap apart, chairs almost teetering over. Lance murmurs a hushed sorry before scrambling back to his notes, and Keith tries not to slam his face into his textbook and groan.

Like that, November passes in the blink of an eye. At the end of the month, after another slew of exams, people start packing up to go home for the week-long Thanksgiving break. Keith tries not to feel too bitter as he’s walking back to the dorm after his last class, watching everyone shoving suitcases into their parent’s cars or catching the bus to the airport.

“What are you doing over break, Hunk?” he asks over the phone, balancing it between his shoulder and ear as he searches for his keys in his bag. “Are you going back to Samoa to see your family?”

He half hopes that Hunk will stay on campus with him for the week, even though his gut feeling tells him otherwise. Pidge had already skipped town after their last exam yesterday, taking a bus up to Boston to spend time with their older brother Matt. Keith knows Lance isn’t staying either, already half-packed for Santa Monica.

For the first time, Keith feels the dredges of loneliness settling uncomfortably in his stomach, seeing all his friends going home.

“Nah, the flight’s too expensive,” he hears Hunk say amidst a distant explosion. Keith sends a silent prayer that no one in the frat got egged or caught on fire again. “I usually only go back during winter and summer break. I’m seeing Shay’s family this time, down in New Orleans. Their gumbo is literally the best thing I’ve ever had, I gotta get the recipe somehow.”

Keith laughs, glad to hear the excitement in Hunk’s voice despite his own gloomy mood. “Bring some back for me, big guy.”

“Sure thing,” Hunk says, proceeded by what sounds like a fire extinguisher going off in the background. “Hey, by the way, I heard from Pidge who allegedly heard from someone else that you and Lance we’re getting cozy in the library last week. Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

There’s a knowing tease at the end of Hunk’s question, and it comes so unexpectedly that Keith jams his keys against the lock of the dorm and drops them. He swears, blushing hotly from head to toe as he stoops down to pick them up. 

“Who— what— how the hell did Pidge hear anything first of all? And second, I plead the fifth.” Keith winces at how high his voice pitches, like it’s on the verge of panic. He thought he was being subtle. He thought no one would notice the… the _feelings_ that he’s been having towards Lance recently. Maybe feelings. Emphasis on the maybe. Lance is smart and funny and attractive — possibly a little too attractive for his own good — but that doesn’t mean Keith _likes_ him, or wants to date him and hold his hand and—

_God, does Lance know? Can he tell? No way, he’s as dense as a brick when he wants to be._

Hunk laughs, although not unkindly. “You know Pidge,” he says, drawing Keith out of his spiraling mental breakdown. “They find out everything. And dude, it’s okay, I can practically hear you panicking over there so take deep breaths. I just wanted you to know that, if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.”

Keith finally manages to get the door open with his fumbling hands, and as soon as he’s inside, he pastes himself onto the lobby wall, ignoring the weird looks he gets from people passing by. The smooth cement cools his flushed skin and he lets out a long, suffering sigh.

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Hunk.”

“Anytime, Keith,” Hunk says soothingly. “Oh, I gotta go clean up this mess these freshmen just made and finish packing. Have a good break!”

Keith cracks a smile and peels himself off the wall. “You too, Hunk. Safe flight.”

 

&

 

A few hours and a stress muffin later, Keith is perfectly composed and so immersed into Malcolm X’s autobiography that he’s forgotten all about his mental breakdown from earlier. (Well, sort of.) He’s also accepted the fact that he’s going to be alone for yet another boring Thanksgiving, and makes a mental note to stock up on ramen cups later in the evening.

“So, where are you going for break?” Lance asks, rustling through his closet and tossing last minute items into his duffel bag. Keith’s pretty sure he’s already got everything he’ll need and more for just a week, but Lance insists on being prepared. (For what? Keith will never know.) “I haven’t seen you pack any of your things yet.”

Keith ignores the tightness in his chest and rolls onto his stomach, flipping a page, and says absentmindedly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“What?!” There’s a clatter as Lance drops several clothes hangers, whipping around to stare at Keith incredulously. Keith shrugs, not looking up from his book.

“I’m staying here for break. Shiro’s working and Allura and Coran both went back to London to visit family, so there’s nothing for me back home.”

There’s a beat of silence where Keith thinks Lance has gone back to stuffing his bag full of junk he doesn’t need, until—

“Pack your bags.”

“What?” Keith asks, distracted with his reading and not sure if he heard right.

“Pack. Your bags.”

That gets Keith’s attention, and he finally sets his book down to look at Lance in confusion. “Why?”

Lance suddenly starts moving really fast, his expression unreadable as he flits towards Keith’s side of the room, throwing open his closet. “The next airport shuttle leaves in thirty minutes, but all you’ll really need is a toothbrush and a few changes of clothes, unless you want to wear mine which, hey, my mom does laundry like no one’s business, so they’ll be clean, and—”

“Wait, Lance, slow down.” Keith gets up from his bed and walks over to him, placing a hand over his arm. The rambling stops, and Keith peers at Lance’s expression, still shadowed in the dim lighting of the room. “What are you talking about?”

There’s another drawn out beat of silence, and Lance’s fingers are twisting around each other restlessly. He almost looks… Nervous? Frustrated? Keith waits patiently, watching the muscle unclench in Lance’s jaw.

“You’re not going to spend Thanksgiving break alone, Keith,” he finally says, shifting around to face Keith with a determined gaze. It’s the last thing Keith expects, but it’s also so, hopelessly Lance.

“I mean, it’s not like I really have a choice,” he answers, offering a wry smile. Lance shakes his head.

“No, you do, Keith. Spend Thanksgiving with my family and me.”

At that, a warm, fluttering ache bursts against Keith’s ribs. He pulls away, not wanting to get his hopes up. 

“I can’t,” comes the automatic response, but it sounds weak and unconvincing even to his ears.

Lance frowns. “Why not?”

“W-well for one, it’s too late to book a plane ticket now.”

“No worries, last I checked my flight to Cali isn’t booked out yet. And between all my siblings and my parents, we wrack up enough flight points to get you a free ticket.”

“Are you serious, Lance I—”

Lance reaches out to grip his hands, twining their fingers together. Keith hopes he can’t feel the rabbit pace of his pulse.

“Keith, you can. You will, unless you really don’t want to go. But…” Lance tilts his head, smiling shyly. “I want you to. I want you to spend Thanksgiving break with me, not alone in our dorm.”

Keith can’t seem to find the words to respond properly, hope and excitement leaving him tongue-tied. He still can’t quite believe it yet, almost wanting to punch himself to confirm he’s not dreaming. He’s spent the last two Thanksgivings alone after all, and last year he even spent the entire month of winter break stuck on the barren campus, too. Shiro was always called away to his air force base, and Keith could never accept Allura and Coran’s generous offers of getting him a ticket to go all the way abroad with them, or let them stay in the states instead of seeing their families over the holidays. He never had any close friends he could go off campus with either.

It always hurt a lot more than he was willing to admit.

Lance doesn’t know how much his invitation actually means to Keith, and Keith’s not quite sure how to tell him. He hopes it shows in his answer. He hopes it shows in his smile.

“I’m bringing my own underwear, cause I’m not wearing yours.”

Lance lights up, cheering loudly as Keith laughs, the pressure in his throat receding. Lance quickly grabs a handful of Keith’s boxers to shove into his bag, and Keith doesn’t even have time to feel embarrassed as they help each other pack.

“Dude, you’re going to love Santa Monica. The pier, the food trucks, the _ocean_ , although it might be too cold for you, and — Oh, I need to call mama to let her know.”

At the last second before they rush out the door, Keith grabs his camera kit.

 

&

 

Keith, in fact, does love everything about Santa Monica.

The pier, the food trucks, the ocean, and more. Every day there’s something new to do, new to see. The weather is warm and balmy even in late November, the sea breeze keeping the heat mild beneath the gleaming sun.

Lance sleeps until noon every morning, despite the chatter and commotion that starts in the house around 7am. His family is just as vibrant, chaotic, and wonderful as Keith imagined, all of them making Keith feel comfortable within a matter of a day. There’s Freda and Joseph, Lance’s parents, high school and middle school teachers, respectively. Teresa, or Rice Krispy as Lance dubs her, the oldest sibling and a dance instructor in central L.A.; Mateo (Teo, Teddy, Capri Sun?) who flew in from Jordan where he’s conducting archeological research for grad school; then Luna and Liam, the twins and “babies” of the household.

“Sup, dawg,” Liam greets Keith when he sees him at the breakfast table, holding up a fist. Keith bumps it, raising a brow at the sunny-side up egg sitting in his bowl of cereal.

“Don’t ask,” Luna says, dusting the crumbs off her skirt as she finishes up her toast. Unlike Liam, she looks picture perfect ready for school, already setting her dishes in the sink and heading toward the door. Keith remembers Lance telling him how she’s aiming for valedictorian and perfect attendance in high school.

“Hurry up Liam or I’m ditching you!”

“Okay, okay, geez woman!”

“Good morning, Keith,” Freda calls from the kitchen, drawing Keith’s attention away from the twins. “How many eggs would you like?” 

“Uh, just one would be good, thanks. And well done, please.”

“Sure thing,” she says, smiling.

Lance looks like her, Keith had thought when they first met. Their eyes are the same, their smiles both crooked and dimpled.

Lance’s nose comes from his dad though.

“Did you go for a run again?” Joseph asks, gently moving around his wife in the small space to help her with the dishes. Keith nods, wiping the bead of sweat trekking down his temple with the back of his hand. His biological clock had reset to normal sleeping hours again during break, which meant he could get back to his morning run routine. The neighborhood was easy enough to navigate, and he had made it all the way to the beach this time, running down the path cut through the sand.

He accepts the cup of water Joseph hands him gratefully. “Think you could wake our son up?” the older man jokes.

“Oh, let him sleep,” Freda says, setting Keith’s egg on a plate with toast and fresh fruit. “I bet he’s getting none over there, aren’t I right, Keith?”

“He’s pretty bad about it,” Keith admits, nibbling on a watermelon cube. Something about Lance’s mom makes him want to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, not even a white lie. He figures she’d see right through him anyway, which is both a weird and comforting gut feeling.

It’s Monday, so while Keith and Lance are still on break until their flight back tomorrow, the rest of the family isn’t. They’re all out the door by 7:40, leaving a mountain of breakfast foods for the three kids left in the house sleeping in. Keith sneaks back upstairs to take a shower, then slips inside Lance’s room. Blue the cat greets him, mewing from her perch at the foot of the bed.

“Hey, Blue,” Keith says quietly, scratching her chin. She purrs, blinking up at him contently. “Looks like Lance’s still sleeping, huh?”

Said boy is buried underneath the covers, mouth slightly ajar and hair resembling a chicken’s coop. Sunlight pours through the open blinds, kissing his skin bronze.

His bed sheets are blue here too, along with light blue curtains and blue-gray walls, covered in Star Wars posters, pictures of family, and artwork done by the twins when they were young. There’s a guitar sitting in the corner, and swimming trophies scattered on top of his dresser. Back on his bed, a orange Jake plushie is toppled face-down, its paw loosely held in Lance’s hand.

Keith’s heart tumbles inside his chest. He carefully takes out his camera and sneaks a picture, muffling the sound of the shutter. Lance continues to sleep soundly, his image soft and golden on the camera screen. He’ll need to back up the contents onto his laptop soon, and give a few to Freda. She had requested them when she saw the ones he took of their family, praising the skill and quality of the photographs. 

“Lance, wake up,” Keith says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He gives Lance’s shoulder a shake. Then, feeling a bit drunk on the warm, morning light, he settles his hand into Lance’s hair, sifting gently through the soft strands. Lance makes a quiet, discontented sound.

“Keeeeefff, lemme sleep,” he whines, rolling over to push into Keith’s open palm, nuzzling it like Blue had. He seems upset at being awake, but happy at being petted. His lips brush against the inside of Keith’s wrist, the touch tingling all the way up Keith’s arm to the base of his spine, pooling in his gut. Keith suppresses a shiver.

“You forgot your promise to me, didn’t you?” he says, trying to keep his voice steady by moving his hand away. Lance pouts, eyes still scrunched sleepily closed. _I’m screwed,_ Keith thinks, when he realizes even that ridiculous expression on Lance looks cute.

The mention of a promise seems to do the trick though. Lance shoots up from bed, blue eyes suddenly blown comically wide.

“Shit, I said I’d teach you how to skateboard this morning, didn’t I?”

Keith smirks. “You did.”

Lance groans, flopping back onto the mattress. He curls up again, burying his face into his pillow. “Sorry,” he mumbles through the fabric. “I bet you’ll suck anyway though so there’s no point anymore, right?”

Keith grabs his own pillow from off the floor and smacks Lance with it. “Get up you ass so that I can prove you wrong.”

Lance yelps, laughing, and grabs another pillow to beat Keith up, too. The exchange quickly dissolves into a pillow fight, growing louder and more intense until Mateo knocks on the wall from next door to tell them to be quiet. Lance smothers his laughter with a snort and pulls Keith down, the two of them landing in a tangled heap on Lance’s bed.

“I totally won that,” he says, grinning brightly as he rests his head on top of Keith’s bicep. Keith settles his other hand on Lance’s waist, thumb caressing the curve of it, and wills his heart to slow down, to let him have this moment with Lance cradled in his arms.

“Pretty sure I did,” he answers, voice slightly hoarse. He’ll blame the rough sound of it on the pillow fight, not because of the way Lance is glowing beneath the sunlight, blue eyes clear as the water. 

“No way, my beauty sleep gave me the advantage.”

“Your beauty sleep just made you slow.”

Lance kicks at his shin, and Keith dodges it by hooking their legs together. Lance grumbles, trying to wiggle free but to no avail. “How are you a morning person? We’re college students for quiznak’s sakes.”

They’re even closer now, Keith’s arm sliding further down Lance’s waist. His fingers brush across smooth, bare skin, hot beneath his touch, but Lance doesn’t say anything, so Keith doesn’t move them. “Mornings are nice. And quiznak’s not a word, Lance. Where’d you even hear it from, anyway?”

They stay like that for the next hour, just talking and laughing about mundane things. Keith wishes his arm hadn’t fallen asleep, and that Lance hadn’t wanted a shower, otherwise he would’ve been perfectly content to stay like that for the rest of the morning.

By the time it’s almost noon, Lance is finally freshened up and ready to go, shoving toast and orange juice down his throat as he puts on his shoes.

“Yo, Rice Krispy! Tell mama when she gets back that Keith and I won’t be back for dinner!” he yells, picking up his skateboard and handing Keith the beach bag. Teresa yells something back from upstairs, but Lance is already dragging Keith out the door. 

 

&

 

They take the bus to the skatepark at Venice Beach, and Keith quickly discovers that skateboarding isn’t quite the same as snowboarding as he thought it’d be. Lance has to hold onto his arms a majority of the time to make sure he doesn’t crash into anyone in the bustling area. He’s surprisingly patient and instructive though, only making a few teasing remarks here and there. They spend the whole afternoon practicing, going up and down the concrete path stretched across the sand.

When Keith’s finally mastered the basics on his own, they call it quits and head back to Santa Monica, to Lance’s favorite pizza shack at the pier. They munch on pineapple pizza as they watch the sun sink slowly into the horizon, melting into the water like a flickering flame.

It’s been five days since Keith first arrived, and every sunset has looked different to him. Each one was beautiful in its own way, like the one that set on the first night, sharp oranges blending into fuzzy peach before Keith’s tired eyes. Then there was the one on Thanksgiving evening, eating dulce de leche with Lance’s family on the beach. The sky had been red as sangria and tasted just as sweet.

Today, the clouds are stained cherry, fading into lavender blues as the sun surrenders to the sea. The light ebbs, fluid as the water rippling beneath their toes as they walk along the beach. It’s quiet here, save for the calm, drowsy breath of the tide.

“Hey, did you know that I saw a mermaid once?” Lance says, gaze fixed on the ocean. The breeze combs through his hair, tugs the sleeve of his shirt off his shoulder. In the half-light, his eyes shine like moonstone, smooth skin dark as ink. The sight of him steals Keith’s breath away.

“You won’t believe in the Loch Ness Monster but you'll believe in mermaids?” he asks, exhaling on a shaky, disbelieving laugh. Lance turns to him, his smile a light in the dark. 

“I’ll prove it to you,” he says, and before Keith can react, Lance scoops him up around the middle and tosses him over his shoulder. Keith’s momentarily impressed by the fact that Lance actually managed to lift him, but then he realizes what the other is up to and immediately starts struggling.

“Lance!” he yells, voice on the edge of panic and laughter. “Lance put me down!”

Too late, Lance is already knee-deep in the water, and he voices a cheeky, “as you wish,” before throwing Keith into the sea.

The cold hits like a sharp slap on all his nerve endings, and the last thought Keith has in the numbing burn is that he is absolutely going to murderLance.

“ _Fuck_ that’s freezing!” he gasps when he finally breaks the surface, shivering like a leaf in a hurricane. Lance is gesturing wildly with his arms, shouting dramatically: “Look, a mermaid!”

“Lance, I’m gonna kill you!” Keith warns, but Lance doesn’t even hear him, doubled over in the sand, cackling madly.

“Your hair looks like seaweed!” he wheezes, thumping the ground with his fist. Honestly, that’s fine, that’s perfect, because the idiot’s now too distracted to see Keith launching towards him, easily lifting him up in the air and dunking him swiftly into the water. This time, it’s Keith’s turn to cackle until he’s crying into the sand.

“ _Shit that_ is _cold_!” Lance yells when he comes back up. “Keith you mother-fucker-munchkin—!”

They wind up chasing each other up and down the beach, laughing and shouting and disastrously out of breath. Eventually, they make it back to where they left all their stuff, collapsing messily onto the ground. Lance wraps the thick blanket he brought around the both of them and tosses a towel over Keith’s head for good measure.

“Seaweed hair is a good look on you, Keith, way better than the mullet,” he teases, roughly drying Keith’s hair.

“Shut up, Lance,” Keith growls, quip light. He grabs the towel from Lance and starts ruffling the other’s spiky, sea-salted hair in retaliation. “Your hair looks like a frickin’ sea urchin.”

Lance yelps, trying to shove Keith off, but his protests aren’t so convincing when he’s laughing so hard, nose scrunching up cutely. Keith feels the distinct urge to kiss it down.

Wait, no, not kiss. Punch.

Definitely punch.

After their hair is relatively dry, Lance convinces Keith to strip out of his wet shirt down to his swim trunks. Keith tries not to think too hard as their bare shoulders bump beneath the blanket, or stare at Lance’s chest and stomach. They sit side by side, bare toes digging into the soft sand. The ferris wheel on the boardwalk glows in the distance, casting neon film across the water. Keith feels himself being lulled to sleep, the rhythm of the ocean soothing, until Lance breaks the silence.

“Hey, I was wondering. Why don’t you ever answer the calls from your brother?”

His tone is soft and hesitant, but it wakes Keith instantly nonetheless. He figures it was only inevitable that Lance would ask about his situation with Shiro some day, and Keith has never been completely adverse to the idea of telling him. It’s just difficult for him to be open and honest about topics like this. It’s hard for him to let himself feel vulnerable.

He ponders his words for a bit, wondering how best to explain without spilling too much.

“Because every time we talk, it always winds up being about what I’m going to do in the future.” Keith settles on, leaning back with his palms pressing into the sand. “I still haven’t picked a major yet, so… He’s getting worried.”

Lance nods in understanding, resting his chin on top of his knees. His expression is uncharacteristically solemn. Keith doesn’t feel anxious about his silence, though, content in ending the conversation there if Lance lets it.

“Have you thought about it?” Lance asks eventually, shifting his position so that he can look at Keith. “What you want to do?”

 _No,_ Keith wants to say, the response immediate and defensive, echoing inside his head. But Lance is patient, and level-headed when it counts, qualities that have rubbed off on Keith, so he bites his cheek and tries to think of an answer that’s more thought out. More honest.

Keith breaks Lance’s searching gaze, looking past his face toward the night sky. The stars are sugar dust against a shroud of indigo, light years above. Keith knows all of their constellations by heart, having memorized them since he was young. He can spot every planet, can track the satellite as it passes by. He used to stare up at the night sky often, as much as he took photographs. Those were his anchors whenever he felt listless and scared, whenever he felt at a loss.

Keith can map the depths of infinity just by looking up, yet can’t find his future, his own path in life.

“I’m not sure what I want to do,” Keith says, though the words don’t quite feel right. He continues on, laughing humorlessly. “I still have none of my life figured out because I have nothing I’m passionate about, which is pretty pathetic.”

Lance frowns, reaching out to place a hand on Keith’s knee, giving it a slight shake. “Hey, no one has their life figured out. I mean, we’re all just dumb college kids, who knows whatever the fuck we’re doing?”

“You seem to have your life together, though. You’re going to be a nurse, something you love and are good at.” Keith lets out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding, the pressure lifting off his lungs. “You have a clear path towards an obvious goal.”

Lance smiles, eyes crinkling sympathetically. “Yeah, I’m lucky that I have nursing, but Keith. I don’t have it all figured out. I still don’t know what I’m doing most days. Like, some days when I go in, and there’s this kid who’s got fractures in his skull from being abused at home, or someone needs their endotracheal tube switched and their skin is literally closing up right in front of me, I—” Lance waves his hands, the gesture a little helpless. “I have no fucking clue what I’m doing, you know? I know I’m still learning, but someday I’m going to be out there on my own and someone else’s life is going to be in my hands, and what if I mess up? What if I can’t help them? I don’t know if I’m cut out for it.” 

He takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Things could still easily go wrong for me. I may have a path, but it’s not all figured out. It’s not clear in the slightest.”

Keith sits up, placing his hand over Lance’s. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t trying to imply you had it easy—”

He grimaces at how he’s stumbling over his words, but Lance smiles in understanding. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it that way.”

Their fingers slip easily into each other’s and they fall back into silence, hands intertwined. Keith feels both heavy and hollowed out, bowing his head from the sky to watch as Lance traces the lines inside his palm, the contrast of their skin more profound in the semi-dark. He does that a lot when he’s nervous, fiddling with his hands. Keith wonders what’s on his mind.

“You say you have no passion, but what about photography?”

Lance’s question comes innocent enough, but it causes a brief moment of panic inside Keith. The words take root, like a sapling long neglected, starved of water and sunlight.

“That’s just a hobby,” he says dismissively.

“You’re amazing at it though, and it seems like something you love doing. Why not?”

“Because it’s not practical.” Keith shrugs, looking away. The panic is gone, but in its place comes forced apathy. A tired, familiar hopelessness. “A lot of people can be good at taking pictures, it’s nothing special. I doubt I’d be able to make a living off of it, and I need to support Shiro as soon as possible.”

“I get that, but do you really want to force yourself through a bunch of classes you have no interest in at all, and wind up in a career that you hate? I know you want to support your brother Keith, but I don’t think he’d want you to be miserable while doing it.”

Keith bites his cheek, hating how Lance read him so well, how right he sounds. Leave it to Lance to remind him of thoughts and ideas he’s kept buried for years. To push him toward a precipice.

There’s a small sense of comfort too, though, fettering reluctant and weak.

“Hey, look at me,” he hears Lance say gently. Keith turns his head back to face him, seeing the other smile in encouragement. “Don’t think about what’s practical or not. Just let go and be honest with yourself, okay? If debt and loans and all the other adult bullshit didn’t matter, what do you want? What’s the one dream you’ve had but won’t let yourself admit?”

 _Dream? I have no dream,_ Keith thinks, stumbling through the dark. But…

If he goes back, back to before his parents’ deaths, before Shiro lost his arm. There’s clarity there, in all those photographs he took of mom and dad, in all those days spent running through forests, through open fields and scrapyards. All those nights chasing the moon, filming the time lapse of the sky, hoping to one day see the view from the other side.

There was adventure in photography. There were connections and places and people he loved. He had wanted to travel the world with his camera, told Shiro that he’d go to different planets if he could. Told mom that he’d take her with him, because she loved space as much as he did.

Maybe that had been his dream, as childish and simple as it was. It had been there before life or God or whatever decided to give him and Shiro the middle finger and left them with nothing but each other. After that, Keith had stopped running away at night to go take pictures of the stars. He packed all his photo albums into boxes and hid them in the dusty corner of a room forgotten. He shoved his camera away and focused on helping Shiro pull their lives together as best he could.

 _I had a dream,_ Keith remembers, but he gave it up to do something he thought would be more practical and responsible, something that would support Shiro instead of running away from him, off into the unknown. He still stands by that decision, especially after Shiro was discharged from tour, having lost his arm in a roadside bomb. They needed each other, and Keith wasn’t going to let Shiro shoulder all the burdens and be the only one to make sacrifices. From then on it was studying his ass off in school and working part-time almost every night. It was getting into college with a partial scholarship and aiming for the most lucrative majors, trying out business and computer science and even pre-med.

He hated the business classes he took, though, and he had no knack for pre-medical studies like biology and anatomy. He kept his grades up but he couldn’t settle, no matter how much he told himself that he just needed to pick something that would guarantee a stable income and future. It was miserable, the constant back and forth, the cycle of indecision.

What he found himself gravitating toward instead were topics like astronomy, orbital mechanics, and physics. The vast promise of space, deep with quasars and nebulas and the unknown. That’s what excited Keith, the endless universe waiting to be discovered. Waiting to be documented.

Aside from Shiro, the two constants in his life had always been photography and the sky. In a way, deep down, Keith has always known what he’s passionate about, what his dream is. He’s only convinced himself he had to abandon it.

“I wanted to take photographs. Of the world. In space.”

The admission comes unbidden, slipping from his mouth as clear and fragile as glass. It felt like the first touch of rain after years of drought, so unexpected yet familiar he almost couldn’t believe it.

“Keith, that’s it! That’s perfect, what the heck?!” Lance surges toward him, practically vibrating with energy and excitement. “A photographer in space! An astronaut! That’s so you! No wonder you’ve taken so many physics and astronomy courses. It’s like you’ve been thinking about it inside your head without realizing it.”

Keith’s still in a state of shock, letting Lance ramble on without really registering anything he’s saying. A photographer literally moonlighting as an astronaut? Did something like that even exist? Is that really what he’s wanted this whole time? It seems too simple, too easy.

And yet…

Picking up photography again, taking pictures of the people he’s grown to love, using everyday as a chance to chase the sun and watch the stars — that’s what drives him to wake up every morning. That’s what keeps him working into the late hours of the night. His interest in learning about the mechanics of the sky and the space beyond it only came naturally in tandem.

It makes sense. In mind, in concept. But that didn’t change the fact that very few can become career-building photographers and astronauts. He’d probably have to go to graduate school, too, to complete studies in astrophysics or some other related science. And then he’d have to wait during the selection process, competing against thousands of other candidates for a shot at space.

Would he be able to support himself in the meantime? Would it only become a hopeless endeavor? His dream seems so far out there and unlikely that it felt impossible.

“Lance, Lance wait. It’s just a pipe dream. It’s not—”

“Are you telling me you’re taking freaking quantum theory right now just for fun?”

“The chance of someone becoming an astronaut is less than one percent—”

“So?”

“It’s zero point six percent to be exact—”

“And again, so what? Like that’s gonna stop you.”

Lance glares at him like a challenge, and it’s one that Keith can’t meet. He tilts his head back, trying to ease the pressure that’s been building in his throat, the burn in his eyes. He’s not going to cry. He doesn’t want Lance to see him cry.

“What if… What if I waste all that time and money on… Nothing?”

He doesn’t want to become a burden to Shiro again. He doesn’t want to bank his whole life on something so impossible, then hurt the people he cares about because he couldn’t achieve it.

“You’re scared?” Lance asks, and Keith laughs, brokenly.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Bullshit,” Lance says, and the sound of his voice is both fierce and full and faith. “The Keith I know isn’t afraid of anything, except face masks and wasabi cause he’s a baby.”

A pause.

Then Keith is snorting into his hand, laughing for real this time. The sound tumbles out of him, a kick in the ribs, and he feels lighter with each shake of his shoulders, each hiccup of his breath. Lance loosens beside him, as if he’d been waiting to hear Keith’s genuine laugh. As if he’d been worried and anxious this whole time, too. He moves to Keith’s side, leaning against his shoulder to provide comfort. After a while, he starts to speak, breath warm across Keith’s skin. 

“Did you know that, if you stretched out all the cells in our DNA, it would reach the sun and back six hundred times? That’s like, a hundred billion miles, which is just. Insane, to know that our bodies basically hold a whole solar system inside.”

Keith rubs his tears away, and looks at Lance curiously, wondering where he’s going with this.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, we feel small and powerless a lot of times, but we’re capable of doing so much more than we know. Especially you, Keith. You’re one of the hardest working people I know, and you’re fucking unstoppable when you set your mind toward something. Like, remember when you fought everyone for Hunk’s brownies?”

There’s a slight tease in Lance’s voice, and Keith lightly jabs at his head, feeling his lips quirk up despite the heaviness weighing him down.

“I know your dream seems daunting, but it’s something important to you, something that I know you’re capable of achieving, even if it takes a while. Even if it seems life’s working against you, giving you doubt. There’s always going to be that doubt, I think. You just can’t let it stop you. You’re a hothead and you’re impatient, don’t fight me on this you know it’s true, but Keith. You don’t have to go to space right away. I heard most astronauts have regular day jobs like engineering or teaching anyway before they’re selected. You could support your brother and work to pay off all your loans and everything before you’re selected.” 

“You mean _if_ I’m selected,” Keith points out, voice hoarse and sardonic. He feels Lance shake his head against his arm. He sees Lance’s eyes, blue _blue_ even in the fall of night.

“You will. You’re Keith, one of the smartest, coolest people I know. NASA would be a total jerk to turn you away.”

Keith jokes weakly, “You think I’m cool?”

Lance rolls his eyes, but he’s genuine. Another bright constant in Keith’s life.

“Just a tad.”

He pinches Keith’s cheek, pulls it gently up as if to say, _smile._

“Will you consider it, at least? Your dream?”

His question comes as soft as rain; not a forceful push or request, only a guide. It doesn’t offer a solution to all of Keith’s problems, but it shines a light on a possible path for him to start.

It’s enough.

Keith nods. Lance’s smile is radiant. 

“Good.”

They stay huddled on the beach together for a while longer after that, the conversation shifting into lighter topics. Distantly, music is playing, cotton laughter echoing from the city lights behind them.

“Okay, so my first kiss was this guy named Alex, total bae.” Lance is sitting in front of him now, eyes twinkling in the pale glow of the moon. “Like, I dreamt of his soccer thighs choking me on the daily kind of bae, which was also around the time I realized I wasn’t fucking straight at all cause I really wanted to suck his co—”

“ _Lance!_ ” Keith’s face is on fire, and it doesn’t help that he’s now acutely aware of just how naked they both are from the waist up. Lance laughs, toes wiggling playfully in the sand, but thankfully he changes the subject.

“Well then, what made you pick up photography?”

Keith tries to even out his breathing inconspicuously, his heart still sputtering a mile a minute. Lance is going to kill him, he swears, and he already knows he’s going to dread the other’s reaction to his next answer. “You have to promise not to laugh.”

“To not laugh? At you? Impossible, Mullet.”

“Lance, your douchebag is showing.”

“Okay, okay. Scout’s oath. I won’t laugh.”

Keith takes a deep breath. “When I was looking for Mothman—” Lance bursts into a fit of _giggles_. “Lance, what did I say about laughing? Stop it, you dick, oh my god.” Keith smushes Lance’s cheeks together, trying to get him to stop laughing, yet not able to hide the smile off his own face. “I was like, eight, okay? Anyway. I wanted to be able to take a photo of him, for evidence in case I did find him. But after almost three hours of searching, I wound up taking a bunch of photos of the scenery instead, and gave them to my mom for her birthday. She seemed really happy about it, so I just kept up the habit afterwards.”

Lance has this look on his face, his lower lip wobbling. Keith eyes him warily.

“That’s—”

“Lance.”

“That’s _adorable_. Keith, sweetheart, babe—”

“Oh my god, _Lance_.”

His next words are muffled as Lance wraps his arms around him, and, oh. _Oh._ They’re hugging, Lance’s bare skin pressed soft and warm against Keith’s. He smells of sunshine and ocean salt. Keith thinks he might pass out.

“You know whatever you do and wherever you go, I’ll always be your friend, right? Pidge and Hunk, too.” 

The reassurance comes unexpected, spoken cheerful and affectionately against Keith’s ear, yet somehow it’s exactly what he needed to hear. He hugs Lance tightly back, the ache in his chest yawning wider than ever.

_Where have you been all my life?_

Later that night, as Lance snores softly from his bed, Keith stares up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Instead, he pulls out his laptop and goes through all the classes he’s taken, all the ones he’d have left. He stays up until dawn, running back and forth inside his head, spinning in circles. Each time, he winds up at the same place, at the same decision.

_What I really want to do…_

_It could work._

_I can make it work._

He’s exhausted in the morning, but feels light. Optimistic, even. 

“So, good break?” Lance asks, handing him a cup of coffee as they wait in the airport, late afternoon. 

“It was all right.”

“Hey, I saw how much fun you had. Come on, admit it. Best break ever.”

Keith thinks about the whirlwind past week — the late night conversations on the beach, that day they went to the aquarium, roller coasters at the pier, skating and swimming and drunk on sun. Lance’s family. How Luna taught him how to make arroz con pollo. How Teresa tried to teach him how to dance. Liam crushing him at Super Smash Bros, Joseph’s dad jokes, Teo showing him his album of adventures from Jordan, Seville, and Morocco. 

How Freda had hugged him, just as his own mother used to, before they left.

Keith hopes he’ll get another chance to go back.

“Yeah, it was.”

 

&

 

When they get back on campus, the first thing Keith does is set up an appointment with his advisor. A day later, his major status changes, and afterwards with shaking hands, he calls Shiro.

His brother picks up after the fifth ring.

“Keith! I’m so glad you called. How are you? How was break? You’re back at school now, right?”

The relief is evident in Shiro’s voice and his deluge of questions. Keith tries to swallow down the lump of guilt in his throat. It really has been too long since they last had a proper conversation, and Keith had only sent a brief text to him before leaving on break with Lance. He makes a mental note that, among all the other aspects of his life that he needs to work on and fix, patching up his relationship with his brother takes first priority.

“Yeah, I’m back. Break was good, I’m uh, good.” Keith clears his throat. “I— I actually just got out of an advising appointment, and um, I decided on what I wanted to major in. An-and minor in, too…”

“Keith, that’s great. What did you decide on?”

“Astrophysics and photography.” 

Shiro lets out a low whistle, and Keith manages a nervous laugh.

“It’s okay, right?”

There’s a noise of confusion on the other end. “Keith, of course it is. Like I said, as long as you’re happy, I fully support whatever you want to do with your life.”

“I just don’t want to make things any harder for you,” Keith says, the worry and guilt rearing back up. “I mean, I’ll have to go to grad school now, and that’s even more money, and—”

“And I don’t want you to have to worry about me, Keith.” Shiro’s response is full of warmth and reassurance. “We’re family. We’ll work things out together as they come. Just… Always talk to me, okay?”

Keith thunks his head back against the wall, feeling grateful, overwhelmed. Feeling stupid that he ever thought Shiro would ever be anything but the unfailingly kind and supportive brother he’s always been.

He takes a deep, steadying breath.

“I’m gonna be an astronaut,” he says, his voice confident and determined now that he has a clear path ahead, a goal that he can give his all towards. He hears Shiro’s fond laugh through the scratchy filter of the phone.

“You always did want to go look for aliens.”

“They’re out there, Shiro.”

“I know, I believe you.” The smile is bright in Shiro’s voice, quieting all the words that don’t really need to be spoken between brothers. “Mom and dad believed in you too, Keith. They’d be proud of you right now.”

At that, Keith can’t find the words to respond back. The lump inside his throat swells, heavy and tasting of copper, only different this time. It’s the feeling of missing loved ones, and of being intensely thankful for the one that’s left. It’s the feeling of the weight of the sky being lifted off his shoulders, the first ray of sunshine through the clouds.

“I’m glad you called,” Shiro says, and Keith remembers all the times Shiro was there for him growing up, from a scraped knee to losing their parents to coming out. Keith suddenly misses him almost more than he can bare.

“Me too.”

 

&

 

The blank wall of Keith’s side of the room is the perfect screen for a movie projector. At least, that’s what Pidge had said when they hung out at the dorm one night. Since then, they’ve been doing movie nights every Friday. Tonight it’s _Sharktopus_ , a cult classic according to Pidge.

“Okay, so sharktopus versus the honey badger. Who’d win?” Pidge lifts their head from Keith’s shoulder, reaching for the popcorn. Hunk hands it up from his seat on the beanbag beside the bed, grabbing a handful himself. 

“Oh, the honey badger for sure,” he says, munching happily on the caramel-salted snack. Pidge makes a noise of disbelief before passing the bag of popcorn to Keith.

“Um, excuse me, but how would a honey badger go against the world’s greatest biological super weapon with eight tentacles and titanium teeth?”

“The raw, indomitable force of nature and natural selection, duh,” Hunk counters easily. 

“Sounds fake, but okay. Lance, what do you think? Lance?”

“He’s asleep,” Keith responds, fingers smoothing the strands curling against said boy’s temple. Lance had drifted off about thirty minutes in, his head cradled in Keith’s lap. He’s drooling a little, his nose nuzzling into Keith’s stomach. Keith swipes his thumb along the corner of his mouth without thinking, forgetting that they’re not alone.

When he looks back up, Pidge is staring at him with the biggest, shit-eating grin. Keith’s heart rate kicks up immediately in defense mode.

“You like him a lot, don’t you?” they ask, and while Keith’s first response is to swear up and down his own grave in denial, he also knows that he’s too far gone at this point to even try.

Plus, it’s Pidge. No one hides anything from Pidge. 

“I do,” he says, hand moving instinctively to cover Lance’s ear even though he’s deep asleep. Pidge bounces on their knees in excitement at the confession, and Hunk’s head peeks up from the ledge of the bed, his smile just as wide. The movie is forgotten in the background, even as one of the main characters gets bloodily eaten by the sharktopus.

“Are you going to tell him?” Hunk turns the volume of the movie down before looking back at him. Keith ignores the muted throb of pain through his heart at the question.

“Nope, never.”

“Ummm, and why the hell not?” Pidge asks, crossing their arms and frowning like a ninety-five year old porch-sitter.

“He still isn’t over Nyma.”

“How do you know? Have you asked?”

“I just… know.”

Keith grimaces, thinking back on what had happened a few days ago, when he and Lance had bumped into Nyma at a crosswalk. He’d seen the way Lance had looked at her, the residual pain raw and evident in his eyes, even now. It was clear as day to Keith that Lance sill wasn’t over her.

(Nyma had smiled, but there was guilt there, too.)

“I think you should tell him, man. You never know,” Hunk says, bringing Keith out of his thoughts. “I thought I had no chance with Shay at first too, but look at us now.”

“Yeah, I agree with Hunk. Lance has been really happy lately, Keith, and I think it’s because of you.”

“He’s always been happy,” Keith says, frowning in confusion. Hunk and Pidge both shake their head.

“Not in the last month before he and Nyma broke up,” Hunk explains. “I think it’s because he already knew what was happening, but he didn’t know how to face it. You really helped him out Keith when you let him room with you.”

“It was honestly a relief seeing Lance being his usual annoying self again, and Hunk and I both wondered what had happened to bring him back.” Pidge reaches over to brush Lance’s hair fondly, tucking the loose strands behind his ear. “Then we saw the two of you together and it clicked.”

The implication is there in Pidge’s voice, but Keith can’t bring himself to acknowledge it. His heart is thumping awfully as he looks down at Lance resting in his lap, his long lashes and full lips. His humor and energy and kindness. In the short time that they’ve been together, Lance has become so important to him and changed his life in so many ways. Keith doesn’t want to risk their friendship for anything, especially not because of feelings he’s certain that Lance can’t reciprocate. Not now at least. Maybe not ever.

“I don’t want to ruin what we have now,” he says softly, and he hears Pidge huff in frustration. 

“It wouldn’t be ruined though!”

“But you don’t know that for sure, Pidge. You can’t promise me that he feels the same way. You know that.”

Pidge quiets at that, brows knitting together.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Keith smiles and pats their head, knowing they mean well. “It’s okay.”

They return to the movie, slipping back into easy banter and poking fun at the terrible special effects. Afterwards, they put up Planet Earth II, despite it already being 1am. Keith’s not sure when Pidge and Hunk eventually leave, or when he falls asleep, but he wakes to the feeling of Lance shifting against him.

“Keith?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. Keith’s too tired to register their compromising position, Lance lying half on top of him, legs tangling between his. Fuzzily, he notes that his hands are splayed across the small of Lance’s back, beneath his shirt, dangerously close to the curve of his ass.

“What are you doing feeling me up at night? Pervert.”

 _That_ wakes Keith right the fuck up, and his hands fly off. “Wha— I’m not— _You_ fell asleep on top of me and I—”

Lance dissolves into breathless, sleepy laughter at Keith’s obvious distress.

“I’m kidding, kidding.” 

“Fine, I’ll move.”

“No! No, stay. Please.” Lance flops more onto Keith’s chest, effectively trapping him. “I think you keep the nightmares away. I slept really well just now.”

The admission is mumbled into his shirt, shy and drowsy. Keith’s pretty sure he’s going into cardiac arrest.

“If—If you drool on me,” he manages to say with only minor stuttering. “I’m kicking you off.” Then he wraps his arms around Lance fully, rolling them both onto their sides, Lance’s face tucked against his collarbone.

“This is my bed, you asshole,” is the last thing Keith hears, warm and amused on his skin, before he falls asleep.

 

&

 

It’s four in the morning on a Wednesday, a week before finals, when the fire alarm goes off in all its shrieking, demonic glory. Losing sleep seems to be a running theme in Keith’s life now, so he’s not even surprised. It’s clear that the school doesn’t give a shit about the well-being of their students when all the fire drills happen in the dead of night.

“I hate this so much I’d rather burn in the hypothetical flames,” Lance groans, rubbing the heavy sleep out of his eyes as they trudge out the dorm to the earsplitting screech of the alarm. A hundred other sleep deprived students are already gathered along the street, griping and shivering in various states of undress. Keith walks gingerly around one guy passed out on the wet asphalt, wondering if he should try to wake him up before his pajamas soak through. 

“Hey, you okay?” He stoops down and nudges him gently, the guy rolling onto his back in response. Lance makes a noise of recognition behind him, the surprise seemingly waking him up from his half-asleep state.

“Blumfump, what the hell are you doing lying on the ground like that? You’ll get hypothermia.”

“His name is _Blumfump_?” Keith mutters, moving aside as Lance crouches down beside him.

“Blumfump” stares blankly into the sky, his voice coming out grave and forlorn. “Lance, listen to me. Right now there are electromagnetic mind control forces moving through the air beyond our control. I have yet to pinpoint the exact location of the source, but if we are not careful, the vibrations could alter our fifth and tenth cranial nerves, tricking us into thinking that we’ll be safe and warm no matter the circumstances. As such, I’ve determined that lying horizontally on the ground—”

Lance shakes his head. “Okay buddy, come on. Up now.” He grabs Blumfump’s hand and hauls him up, patting the wet debris off the back of his shirt.

“Here, wear this.” Keith feels his heart squeeze uncomfortably as Lance shrugs off his hoodie and wraps it around Blumfump’s slighter frame. “Promise me you’ll keep this on and won’t face plant on the ground again, all right?”

“What if I’m mind-controlled into taking it off? What if—”

“Blumfump, no one’s going to mind control you at four in the morning. Everyone’s brain waves are all too exhausted right now, so I promise you it won’t happen, okay?”

Blumfump grumbles, his expression twisting like he’s going through some profound, intellectual affliction, but he clutches Lance’s jacket closer to his body and nods before walking off. Lance huffs a laugh.

“That kid. He’s gonna win the Nobel Prize someday if he would just take better care of himself.”

“Who is he?”

“Freshman cognitive science major. Met him when he came into the hospital once pulling some dumb shit I can’t talk about cause, you know, HIPAA, but he’s cool. Already has his own dissertation on mind control and everything.” Keith lets out a low whistle. “Yeah, I know right? Crazy. Come on, let’s wait over there.”

Lance takes Keith’s hand and leads him towards the other side of the road, beneath an alcove of trees dimly illuminated by the street lamp. Out of the corner of his eye, Keith spots Nyma standing farther down the road, giggling next to Rolo. Her head is tilted skyward, hair faded silver in the dull, orange light, smile cutting sharp when Rolo leans down to kiss her, to whisper against her mouth.

Keith positions himself so that they’re blocked from Lance’s view.

“Keeeith, I’m cold,” Lance says, shuffling closer whilst shivering from head to toe. Keith rolls his eyes but can’t quite suppress his smile.

“You wouldn’t be cold if you hadn’t given your jacket to that guy.”

“Mmph, Blum needed it more than I did,” Lance mumbles, tucking his face into the crook of Keith’s neck, cold nose rubbing against his collarbone. “Besides, I have you to keep me warm.”

Keith feels his cheeks run hot, his heart squeezing once more in that exasperated, unbearably fond way. He presses his lips against Lance’s temple, hoping he won’t notice.

“C’mere,” he mumbles, pulling Lance closer. His arms circle around Lance’s waist while Lance wraps his arms around his neck, swaying a little. Lance smells like summer, clean and comforting, remnants of sunlight flickering behind Keith’s eyelids as he breathes in.

This sort of intimacy has been easy for them lately, at least during the night when they’re both too tired to think too carefully about it. Keith sleeps on Lance’s bed more often than his own now, under the guise of comfort whenever Lance has a nightmare. More often though, they simply sit on the bed and talk until they both fall asleep. When morning comes, Keith wakes up to the warm, weighted feeling of Lance tucked beside him, always drooling just slightly. It doesn’t gross Keith out at all, only makes his heart do a funny flip, which is… Ridiculous. Feelings are ridiculous. How much he likes Lance is ridiculous.

He likes Lance. A lot. He can admit that to himself now without panicking, at least. He’s not sure if he’ll ever tell him. He’s not even sure if they’ll still be rooming together come next semester. They haven’t talked about it, and Keith doesn’t know how to bring it up.

Keith wants Lance to stay, though. Wants to keep falling asleep in the same bed. Wants to wake up together every morning. 

The alarm stops ringing, and it’s quickly a mad rush to get back inside. Lance pulls away.

“Race you back up,” he says, eyes twinkling.

“Lance, it’s four AM.”

“Hey, maybe you’re just afraid you’ll lose to my graceful, gazelle-like legs.”

“No way in hell, you fucking furry,” Keith deadpans, then bolts straight towards the door, leaving Lance spluttering in the dust. He hears Lance yelling and laughing behind him, then almost catching him in the traffic of the staircase.

“Cheater,” Lance pouts, linking their hands together when he finally does catch up to Keith. They’re outside of their suite, the dim light casting filmy shadows across Lance’s skin, flushed and dark. Keith wants to kiss the sleep from his eyelids, feel Lance’s smile against his lips. Keith wants to tell him that they should stay together like this — as friends, roommates, something more. Until next semester. And the next after that.

_Stay with me, no matter where I go and what I do, just like you said._

But Keith says none of those things, shoving the words into the back of his mind where the fear and hope can't reach. Instead, he opens the door, pulling Lance back into bed, tucking him close. 

Maybe someday he'll find the courage to tell him, but for now he doesn't want anything to change. Someday, though. 

Someday. 

.

.

.

 

When Keith wrenches the door open to his room the next semester, what he doesn’t expect to see is his old roommate, Rolo, standing on Lance’s side of the dorm.

All of Lance’s stuff is gone, from the grid of polaroids on the wall to the patchwork blanket hanging off his chair. The room is as dull and lifeless as it was once before, Rolo’s gray sheets covering the mattress. Rolo's trash already littering part of the floor. 

“What, not happy to see me?” Rolo says, smirking. He brushes past Keith withoutoffering an explanation, knocking into his shoulder on his way out of the room.

When he's gone, Keith can only stare at the empty space, wondering if he was wrong to assume that Lance would ever fail to be a constant in his life.

Wondering if he was wrong to assume that nothing would ever change. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...... >:3c 
> 
> Comments and critiques would be much appreciated as always, I'll trade you a cookie in return ^^ Apologies if this chapter was boring and choppy/messy in places. I really wanted to update before finals week hits, so I worked as hard as I could to finish this chapter in time. I hope the quality didn't fall short and that y'all still enjoyed it. Until next time!! :D
> 
> P.S. Did y'all see that accidental VLD spoiler though? I've been screaming over Matt Holt all day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'd like to say that I'm so, so incredibly sorry that it took me this long to update. I started writing this towards the end of school against my better judgement, and before long I was swamped with finals, the MCAT, and then study abroad. I've had a crazy hectic summer, and now I'm back in school again, hence the long delay. 
> 
> Second, thank you to everyone who's read, kudo'd, and commented on this story. If you're still around, thank you so, so much for the support. You guys are what encouraged me to grind this out as fast as I could. I hope the final chapter doesn't disappoint. Until the next klance fic, happy reading!!

Allura has been lying face down on the floor laughing for the past ten minutes.

She barely responds when Coran sets a bottle of water next to her, and doesn’t even get up when the cheesecake is brought out. Between that and the whole bottle of wine she basically downed by herself, Keith’s a little… concerned. 

“I’m sorry I broke your girlfriend,” he says, patting Shiro’s arm awkwardly and sliding sideways out of retaliation range. Shiro looks more amused than anything else though, munching thoughtfully on his slice of cake.

“There’s no way you thought of that gift all by yourself.” Shiro points at the blue t-shirt still held in Allura’s arms, the one that has her giggling on the carpet. There’s a graphic of a dog wearing a white coat and a stethoscope on it, the words “Trust me, I’m a dogtor” printed underneath. It had been Lance’s suggestion when Keith Skyped him in a pre-Christmas panic, and it had given him a good laugh too when he first saw it, but definitely not to the degree it has Allura currently in. Guess it’s a med student thing.

“So little faith in me, huh?” he gripes, aiming a jab at Shiro with his elbow. Shiro laughs as he dodges it without even looking.

“Well, I mean, you did get me that shoddy crockpot last year.”

“I thought it would help you cook, not help you blow up the kitchen. You gotta admit that’s at least half your fault.”

“Okay, fair,” Shiro acquiesces with a shrug, setting his plate aside and leaning back against the couch. “But seriously, who helped?”

There’s a knowing glint in Shiro’s eyes, and Keith hopes he doesn’t notice him slightly tensing up. The teasing he knows he’s about to endure almost makes him wish Shiro hadn’t gotten time off Christmas this year. Allura and Coran had decided to stay in the states this holiday, too, and Keith’s ninety percent sure they planned the whole thing behind his back.

“Um, my friend Lance.” Keith watches warily as a brief smile crosses Shiro’s face.

“Lance, the friend you spent Thanksgiving break with?”

“Yup.”

“Ah, I see.”

Keith suppresses a groan at the smug sound of his brother’s voice. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Shiro is all faux-innocence masking the devil incarnate. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I know you’re thinking it.”

“You’re not helping yourself acting paranoid either. It just confirms my suspicions.” At that, Keith clams up and Shiro laughs, reaching over to ruffle Keith’s hair with his good hand. “I’ll stop probing if you let me meet your Lance sometime. I want to thank the person who taught my little brother how to gift a decent present for once.”

“Fuck you,” Keith gripes, but he’s smiling, shoving Shiro’s hand off his head and willing his skin to cool the fuck down from the simple mention of ‘your Lance.’

It’s been almost two weeks since the last time Keith’s seen him, and the first couple days were admittedly (embarrassingly) difficult for him to cope with. He’s grown so used to every day life with Lance: Lance getting breakfast with him, Lance singing in the shower, Lance laughing against his shoulder, face tucked helplessly into his neck. Keith misses him like the constant tug of the tide, ebbing and surging, especially late at night when Lance’s warmth isn’t pressed beside him.

They managed to Skype a few times, but Lance’s family festivities eventually kept him busy and away. Their texts have been sporadic, too, but they always make sure to wish one another a good morning or good night.

Keith knows this… constant yearning for another person, this almost co-dependency, is ridiculous. Keith has lived most of his life without Lance by his side, but now that he’s had someone so vibrant in his life, he doesn’t want to be without him. Through Lance, he met Pidge, Hunk, and Shay. Through Lance, he was able to figure out a path for his future. Lance pushed his boundaries and changed his life for the better. It’s only natural that Keith would want to be next to someone who makes him so happy all the time, right?

_Ugh, I have it so bad._

Keith thinks of the present he has for Lance tucked into his book bag, wrapped messily in blue paper and silver ribbon. He had wrapped and unwrapped it over and over again — not because he was afraid Lance wouldn’t like it, but because he was afraid it would be too obvious of an expression of his feelings. While a part of Keith wants Lance to see it and understand the meaning behind it, the greater half of him is terrified. 

_He deserves to know though,_ a voice that sounds oddly like both Shiro and Pidge echoing inside his head. _You should tell him._

 _When I see him again_ , Keith decides, and tries to ignore the thought until the end of break. 

 

&

 

Keith never did find the time to ask Lance about the roommate situation, but all things considered, he didn’t think he’d have to worry about it. Lance never made any indication that he had an issue with rooming with Keith, and Keith had come to trust that no changes would occur in the following semester. So when he opened the door to a room removed of Lance and his belongings, Rolo in his place, the shock floored him for a solid minute.

Had he done something wrong? Did Rolo force Lance out of the room or did Lance want to leave on his own? Keith, as always, runs through a list of worst case scenarios where he fucked up first, before Rolo knocks into his shoulder and snaps him back to his senses.

“Where’s Lance?” Keith asks, confusion morphing into anger. There’s no point in going around in circles inside his head and blaming himself when the more likely suspect is in the room with him.

Behind him, Rolo mocks his question with a high pitched imitation, and Keith seriously considers punching the guy before Rolo sobers up and shrugs his shoulders.

“Back in his old room, I’m guessing.”

“What number?”

“Three twenty.”

Keith doesn’t spare Rolo a second thought, rushing back into the hall and down the stairs towards Lance’s room. It’s in the other wing of the building, where all the single bedrooms are located. Keith finds room 320 tucked almost at the end of the hall, Lance’s name written on a yellow minion caricature taped onto the door.

Keith gives the door a few sharp knocks and waits with bated breath.

There’s a clatter followed by a groan from the other side, the door opening to reveal a rumpled and scowling Lance. A split second of surprise flashes across his face when he looks up and sees Keith, but then his expression smooths out into a wry grin, his posture relaxing against the door frame.

“Hey, roomie.”

“Hey,” Keith answers, anxious. The questions he wants to to ask buzz restlessly on his tongue, but when he notices the dark bruises beneath Lance’s eyes, all those thoughts die down.

Lance looks like he hasn’t slept in at least three days, his hair in disarray and his skin pale and clammy, lacking its usual glow. Despite his seemingly lax posture against the door, there’s a line of tension pulling his muscles taut, clenching his jaw. His eyes are bloodshot, too, rimmed in red. His smile doesn’t quite reach them.

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks instead, his anxiety building into a new, different form. His hand moves instinctively to cradle Lance’s face, palm reaching up to check his temperature. Lance leans into it, chasing the coolness of Keith’s touch.

He’s warm, but not overly so, meaning he doesn’t have a fever at the very least. Keith’s shoulders loosen slightly in relief, and his breath stutters with what to say, where to start.

“You look… Tired.”

_Wow, fucking genius, Kogane._

Lance laughs though, the sound weak but genuine. “You mean I look like shit, but I appreciate your attempt at softening the blow.“ He nuzzles Keith’s hand affectionately before pushing off the door to let him in.

Keith enters and sweeps a view of the room, recognizing the objects still fresh in his memory. The space is a similar format as the doubles, except smaller and with a movable wardrobe instead of a built-in closet space. Lance seems to have moved mostly in already, navy bed sheets in place and books scattered across his desk. The walls are decorated with his Christmas lights and polaroids, save for a few that Keith notices are missing.

Lance pats the space beside him on the bed, and Keith offers his shoulder as he sits down. Lance rests his head against it with a sigh.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keith tries, feeling that ever familiar sense of helplessness. He can never seem to remember how to comfort someone he cares about, fumbling around each time, hoping something he does will help.

Lance, as if sensing Keith’s distress, presses his lips against Keith’s collarbone and smiles.

“Nothing, it’s okay. I’m okay.” Keith bumps his head against Lance’s in a gesture of disbelief, trying to get Lance to see his disapproving frown. Lance laughs again, that weak yet genuine sound, and his twinkling eyes ease Keith’s worries a little. “Really, I’m just exhausted. I got sick over break and I’ve been cleaning all day to move back in.”

 _It wore you out this much? Why didn’t you ask me for help? I would’ve come in an instant._ Keith pulls Lance closer towards him, letting himself be selfish in how much he wants to hold Lance in his arms. Lance responds in kind, throwing his legs across Keith’s lap and leaning into his chest.

“Why are you moving back in? You didn’t say anything.” Keith tries to keep the accusatory hurt out of his voice, knowing Lance shouldn’t have to deal with that right now. It’s partly his own fault anyway, not having the courage to bring up the topic earlier before break started.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting it either when I came back. And then things just got so busy that I forgot to text you.” Lance plays with a runaway strand at the hem of Keith’s shirt, his nervous tick showing. Keith presses his lips against Lance’s hair, letting him know that it’s okay. “Did Rolo not tell you anything?”

“No.”

“Ugh, I guess he’s still upset over the break up.” 

Keith tenses, a sinking feeling in his gut.

“Rolo and Nyma broke up?”

“Yeah, over the holidays.” Keith hopes Lance can’t feel how rigid he’s gone against him. “Nyma called it quits, apparently. That’s why they no longer want my room and why I’m moving back in.”

The loose strand on his shirt unravels, the red spooling around Lance’s finger. The color looks good against his skin. Keith fixates on it because he can’t trust himself to look at Lance’s face right now.

“Have you talked with her?”

“No, not yet.” _Do you want her to?_ “I figured if she wants to talk, she’ll reach out.”

 _And then will you go back to her? Will you leave me?_ Keith hates himself for thinking so selfishly, the thoughts spilling like ink across a blank slate. There are so many things he wants to ask in order to ease his uncertainties, but he can’t put his own concerns above Lance’s right now. Lance must be just as confused and thrown off as Keith, after all, if not even more so.

“Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t warn you in advance.” Lance’s voice draws Keith out of his muddled thoughts. “You were spending time with your family too, and I didn’t want to bother you with this mess until you got back on campus.”

Keith frowns at Lance’s line of thinking, not understanding why Lance feels the need to keep issues away from him when Lance is constantly helping him out with his, regardless of the time and place. It hurts a bit — does Lance not trust Keith with his own feelings and concerns? No, Lance wouldn’t think like that. He’s just too much of a self-sacrificing idiot sometimes, always trying to help others and forgetting to take care of himself.

“It’s fine, just tell me next time.” Keith wills himself to look Lance in the eye, because he needs to convey how important this is. How important Lance is. “You’re always there for me, so I want to be there for you, too, no matter what.”

The words make Keith want to shrink into his shirt and hide from embarrassment, but he means them. He doesn’t break eye contact even as he feels the flush crawl up his neck, even as Lance smiles softly at him.

“Okay,” Lance says, arms coming up to wrap around Keith’s neck in a tight, grateful hug. Keith loops his own arms around Lance’s waist, his weight warm and comforting on top of him.

“I missed you,” Keith hears himself say before he can stop himself, voice hoarse. 

“I missed you, too.” Lance’s answer is muffled against the crook of Keith’s shoulder, but it’s clear and affectionate in his ear.

It feels so easy and right, holding each other again. Keith can’t believe he managed a month without the sun-kissed boy by his side, hugging and bantering and touching constantly. Despite covering the physical distance between them, the ache inside Keith intensifies rather than subsides, especially now that he knows Lance will no longer be his roommate. That Lance won’t sleep next to him anymore, limbs tangled in his, drooling onto the pillow.

Now that Lance is in his arms again, Keith wants so badly it hurts. Wants all of Lance, just him, everything. To sleep with him. To wake up to him. To kiss him fully and deeply, until he’s melting in the morning light, smiling softly up at Keith.

 _If only he felt the same way_ , Keith thinks, as they pull apart. But after the mess of today — the initial, paralyzing panic; thinking he did something wrong and lost Lance — he’s relieved and grateful enough just to have Lance beside him again.

They fall back into their easy, familiar banter, and Keith feels an overwhelming sense of comfort as he lies down on Lance’s bed and listens to the other’s stories about his family and the adventures he had during break.

“Hey, did I ever tell you how disappointed I was when I realized this room was one number away from four twenty?”

Keith rolls his eyes and sighs. “Lance.”

“I was so close to blazing it, but I couldn’t get—”

“Lance.”

“— _high_ enough.”

The feeling of wanting to both smack and kiss Lance comes back full force, and honestly, Keith couldn’t be happier. 

 

 

&

 

Hunk and Pidge arrive later that day, and they all get dinner at Shay’s off campus apartment to eat Hunk’s new gumbo recipe. Keith feels like he’s coming home for a second time, sitting at the table with a group of people he’s come to love, talking and laughing until late into the night.

They exchange presents midway through, and just as Keith expected, Lance takes his present at face value: a custom photo album of Lance with all his family and friends. All the anxiety he had leading up to the exchange was worth seeing Lance’s tearfully happy expression, and how hard Lance had hugged him for the gift. He stuck close to Keith’s side for the rest of the night, leaning into him as they all went through the album together.

For once, when Keith starts the first day of class the next morning, it’s not with a feeling of dread. Despite not sleeping well with the missing feeling of Lance beside him, he gets up half an hour early in order to make it to his first astrophysics course with Professor Slav.He even sits at the front instead of all the way in the back, leg jostling nervously as other students trickle into the lecture hall.

When Professor Slav shows up with eight mugs of coffee, eight piles of lecture notes, and eight umbrellas, exclaiming fretfully “always be prepared, students!” Keith knows he’s in for the semester of his life.

Professor Slav is Altea University’s world-renowned, award-winning faculty member, but he’s most famous (or infamous) on campus for his insane teaching style. For the next hour he speeds through his lecture on general relativity like a madman, the force of his enthusiasm nearly toppling him off the podium several times. Keith barely has time to breathe to keep up, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to get carpal tunnel by the end of the week from how quickly he has to jot down his notes.

The class is fast-paced, challenging, and every bit as fascinating as Keith expected it to be. For once, instead of falling asleep midway through lecture, Keith finds himself hooked on the topic being discussed and the new information being thrown at him every second. It’s the most excited he’s felt about a course in forever.

The first few weeks of spring semester fly by like that: gym in the morning, lectures during the day, homework and dinner with the group at night. It’s the busiest Keith’s ever been, but it’s also the most comfortable he’s felt in a long while. There’s a steady day-to-day routine that doesn’t bore him, and there’s a direction he can look forward to each morning, even when the workload borders on overwhelming.

The anxiety is still there, of course, but it’s manageable now, especially when he has people who care about him to help him out. Shay catches him up on basic programming and Hunk reviews physics with him every week. Pidge keeps him updated on alien sightings and Coran makes sure he eats in-between.

The one difference that throws Keith off is Lance, who he no longer gets to see everyday. Keith tries not to think about it, which only means he thinks about it all too much.

Lance is even busier this semester than last, rarely ever joining the group for dinner, and rarely ever on campus either. On the occasions that he does have time to hang out, he’s always exhausted, like he’s worn thin and fraying at the edges. The bags under his eyes only darken in color, and it looks like he’s losing weight, too. When Keith asks if he’s doing okay, Lance just waves it off and smiles.

Pidge says it’s because of his hospital rotations in the city, but it’s weird that Keith has to hear that from Pidge and not Lance himself. It’s weird for Keith to hardly ever spend time with Lance. It’s weird that they always part ways on the 3rd floor. It’s weird that when Keith enters his room now, there’s no bag of muffins or a warm voice to welcome him home.

And it’s weird that, when he sees Pidge and Lance arguing at the table one day, they change the topic as soon as they see Keith walk up. 

It hurts. The suddenness of it all.

Keith doesn’t want to think that Lance is hiding something from him, and he doesn’t want to bring it up when they’re together. They already get so little time, with the two of them so busy.

And when Lance smiles at him — when Lance leans into him and they talk and joke around like usual — Keith just wants to cherish the time they have.

It never stops bothering him though, in the back of his mind.

 

&

 

A week into February, Keith gets a text at six in the morning which he promptly ignores.

About a minute later — but probably actually an hour — he gets another dozen blaring text alarms in a row, and he nearly chucks his phone out the window before he remembers Shiro’s firm stance on not buying him another one if he destroys his third phone in a fit of anger.

Heaving a sigh, he rolls over and unlocks the screen, blearily squinting at the messages. The first one is a notification from campus announcing that classes are canceled for a snow day (snow day!), and the rest are from Pidge and the gang.

**Pidge: hoes we’re going to kh stat!!!!!**

**Lance: KINGDOM HEARTS??**

**Pidge: no dumbass kerberos hill**

**Lance: no one calls it that pidgo stop tryin to make it a thing**

**Hunk: I’ll bring the mattress!**

**Pidge: YA BOI**

Nothing like a snow day to get college students to actually wake up. Keith’s out the door in minutes, Rolo giving him the stink eye for being so loud before going right back to sleep.

Outside, there’s barely an inch of snow on the ground, but the town of Altea is incapable of dealing with any form of icy precipitation since it hardly ever snows at all. The whole town collectively loses its mind whenever a speck of white falls from the sky, strapping their trucks with shovels and stocking up on bread and milk like they’re preparing for the apocalypse.

The rest of campus is waking up, too, students exiting the dorms in droves, waddling in puffy jackets and snow boots. Everyone starts collecting ski gear, pulling out baking trays, dismantling their mattresses — anything that could remotely pass for a sled — much to the chagrin of the resident hall monitors.

Keith runs into Lance on the stairwell, and they share a smile before racing down the remaining steps, nearly colliding with Hunk and Pidge outside. Together, they all rush towards Kerberos Hill, which is really just a glorified street starting from the top of campus to the bottom. It’s the perfect open space and optimal angle for sledding.

Dozens of college students are already there, with police setting road blocks all around the area. The snow is just thick enough on this side of campus that it’s smooth and compact against the asphalt, and Keith even catches himself slipping on patches of ice sometimes. 

“Ready to go guys?” Hunk shouts excitedly, leaning down to push against the mattress as Pidge clambers on top. Lance hops on too, dragging Keith down with him with a woop.

“Send us flying Hunk!”

Keith’s pretty sure he sees his whole life flash before his eyes as Hunk starts pushing them forward at a running pace, and he may or may not have screamed as their mattress goes tearing down the street. All four of them clutch onto each other for dear life, laughing and yelling as the frigid air whips through their hair, the rush of adrenaline euphoric. By the time they make it to the bottom of the hill, they’re a windswept, giggling heap, already scrambling back up to go again.

They spend the whole morning going up and down Kerberos, letting strangers ride the mattress with them and borrowing baking trays and laundry baskets from others. Around lunch, boxes of pizza are passed around, and a group of girls from a sorority set up a station for hot chocolate.

In the afternoon, they all lump into a common room at a nearby dorm to nap and defrost. Someone puts on a horror movie, and Shay visits with a backpack full of freshly baked cookies. Lance lays his head on Keith’s lap and slings his legs over Hunk’s, all the while trying to tickle him and Pidge with his feet. They tickle him instead, for revenge on Pidge and Hunk’s part, and just because Keith wants to see Lance laugh. They get shushed quickly by the other students though, who are actually trying to watch the movie.

Lance muffles his laughter against Keith’s stomach. Keith resists the urge to kiss him quiet.

Around evening when the snow starts falling again, everyone heads back outside to get in some last minute sledding. The snow falling is steady but gentle, cotton flecks swirling lazily in the indigo night as people zip down the street. Keith notices a few people carrying snowboards and skis.

He pulls on Lance’s arm, pointing the group out with a smirk. “Hey, wanna race?”

Lance follows his line of sight, and for once, instead of rising to the challenge with a matching grin, he surprisingly looks a bit bashful.

“Will you believe me if I tell you that I’ve never been snowboarding or skiing?”

“What?” Keith lets out of a punched out laugh of disbelief. “Are you shitting me?”

It’s not that hard to believe, actually, but going up the mountains to snowboard every winter was such a big part of Keith’s childhood that he can’t help but be alarmed Lance missed out on the activity.

Lance nods his head solemnly, feigning a tear. “Nope, scout’s honor. I’m a skiing virgin. Never shredded the slopes and what not.”

Keith shakes his head. “We gotta fix that. Visit me next time. We’ll go to Aspen and I’ll teach you.”

His heart fumbles a little when he realizes how forward he sounds with his invitation, but Lance beams at him, eyes twinkling.

“I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

 _Kiss him,_ Keith thinks, for the nth time today. _Tell him how you feel_ , as some of Lance’s other friends drag him away, inviting him to sled with them.

How could anyone not want Lance, when he shines like this? Dusted in snow beneath the golden lamplight, cheeks rosy red with laughter. He brings warmth wherever he goes, people gravitating towards his light.

It’s the happiest Keith’s seen him in weeks.

Pidge walks up to stand beside him. “I missed seeing that,” they say, smiling fondly as Lance starts a snowball fight with Hunk and a bunch of other students. Keith stifles a laugh at their antics and nods. 

“Me too. He hasn’t been this happy in a while.”

Pidge murmurs their agreement and falls silent, going deep into thought. Keith doesn’t mind; he and Pidge have always bonded in their enjoyment of nonverbal companionship, sometimes hanging out for hours without talking. They’ve gotten to the point where they can communicate just by minute facial expressions, and it’s especially funny when they use it against Lance.

Pidge has their brows furrowed now, their lips caught between teeth. It’s their worried expression, which concerns Keith because Pidge rarely shows what’s bothering them. He’s just about to ask what’s wrong when they speak again, but it’s the last thing Keith expects. 

“Erin passed away.”

Erin, the girl who loved carrots and mad scientists. Erin, only eight years old, fighting against acute myeloid leukemia. Keith knows Lance had been friends with her and her family since freshman year. He spent days every month in the ICU with her, keeping her company while she underwent treatment. Lance loved her like his own sister.

Keith tries to find his voice.

“When?”

“Over break, a few days after New Year’s.” Pidge scuffs the snow on the ground, drawing circles with her boot. “Lance flew back early to attend her funeral.”

It all made sense now. The way Lance had acted at the start of the semester, when Keith went to ask him about the change in roommates. He should’ve known then that something else was wrong. He should’ve known not to merely accept Lance’s passive excuse of being just sick. Just tired. Always busy at the hospital, barely eating enough to get by.

Deep down, Keith knew Lance hadn’t been telling the truth each time — the whole truth at least — but yet again he didn’t have the courage to confront him.

Why hadn’t Lance told him? He’d promised that he’d tell Keith, no matter what, whenever something was affecting him. How could Lance shoulder all of Keith’s burdens if he didn’t let Keith do the same?

“I don’t think he kept it from you intentionally,” Pidge says, reading Keith’s thoughts. “I only knew because we’re in the same organization. We’re generally not allowed to talk about our patients outside the hospital.”

Still, he should’ve asked. Hadn’t he learned anything from that day when he came back to school finding Lance gone from their room? Lance has the right to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself, but when Keith knows something’s off — when he knows that Lance is hurting too deep to reach out — shouldn’t he push harder for answers? They’re friends. Best friends. Keith should fight just as hard to hear Lance’s true feelings like Lance has always done for him.

“You know how Lance is. He’ll bug the people he cares about all the time because he loves them and wants them to be happy, but if he’s the one hurting, he won’t say a word to anyone.” Pidge sighs heavily, and Keith realizes that they’ve been baring the grief for a long time, too. How shitty of a friend has Keith been to not have picked up on it?

“I’ve been trying to talk to him, get him to see a counselor or attend group therapy because he hasn’t been sleeping or taking care of himself, but he won’t listen to me.” Pidge’s voice starts to break, and Keith pulls them in to tuck them under his chin, rubbing their back soothingly. “Could you help him, Keith? I don’t know what to do.”

Keith holds them tight, a fierce determination sparking inside him.

“I will. I promise.”

 

&

 

Later that night, on the staircase when it’s just the two of them, Keith asks: “Do you want to sleep together tonight?”

Lance’s expression is unreadable in the half-light, but he answers, “Yeah, come over. Please.”

Keith rushes back to his room to shower and change, heart beating almost frantically. He feels light-headed when he knocks on Lance’s door, staring blankly at the warm light spilling through the blinds of the dorm windows to distract himself.

Lance opens the door with a towel over his hair, motioning for Keith to come inside. They talk normally as they get ready for bed, though their voices are quiet, neither addressing the elephant in the room. When Lance lifts the covers off his bed, leaving half the bed empty, Keith follows almost unconsciously, letting muscle memory take over.

It’s been so long since Keith’s slept Lance’s side, but his body still remembers the placement of his hands, how they always reach for Lance’s waist. He shuts his mind off as he settles in, pulling Lance close to his chest, finding reassurance in the way Lance tangles their legs together like he’s trying to sink into Keith, too.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs against Lance’s hair. He hears Lance mumble back, eyes already falling shut. The exhaustion of the day, the warmth of the covers and Lance’s summer scent all pull Keith quickly to sleep as well. It’s the most peaceful he’s felt in weeks.

He wakes in the middle of the night to Lance crying.

He’s sitting up, spine bent forward and shaking, trying to muffle his sobs.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says when he realizes Keith’s awake, when Keith sits up to wrap his arms around him, rocking him gently.

“Sssshh, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here. I’m here for you.”

Lance hiccups against his collarbone, tears hot on his skin. He’s still trying to contain his sobs, back breaking against the weight, but it’s clear how much it hurts. Keith wonders if this has been going on every night, judging by the dark circles that never quite left Lance’s eyes.

It cuts deep, imagining Lance struggling through this alone for so long.

He takes a deep breath.

“Pidge told me about Erin,” he says, listening to Lance’s sharp inhale, body going stiff in his arms. Keith’s hand finds Lance’s face in the semi-dark, moonlight guiding him through the window, and gently swipes the tear tracks down his cheeks with his thumb. Lance’s eyes are blown wide, blue searching his own.

“Lance, please. Let me help you,” Keith begs. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He keeps holding Lance soothingly until the other relaxes, defenses slowly but gradually crumbling down. Lance breathes like it hurts to take in air, lungs collapsing beneath shaking ribs. 

“I couldn’t do anything again,” he finally says, the words carved out of him in shards. “I wasn’t enough.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know that boy I told you about? The one who died in a car accident.” Lance swipes at his face with his sleeve and sits upright, shifting until they’re both leaning against the wall. Keith pulls the blanket around them as Lance rests his head on Keith’s shoulder, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. “I tried to keep him alive until the paramedics came but I couldn’t. I couldn’t save him.” His body starts to shake again and Keith presses his lips against his hair, rubbing his shoulder. “Now Erin’s gone, and I couldn’t help her either. She was only eight, Keith. Why, why did she—”

“There’s nothing else you could’ve done Lance. You know she was getting the best treatment out there, you know that the doctors tried their best. That she tried her best.”

“There must’ve been something,” Lance pleads, helplessly.

Keith doesn’t know what to say. All he can do is hold Lance as the tears start falling again, every broken sob like a punch to Keith’s chest.

What can he do for Lance in a situation like this? How does he lessen the pain? Keith knows the grief of losing a loved one all too well, but he dealt with that through time. He dealt with that for years, throwing himself into work, doing all that he could to support Shiro. Trying to numb the grief by hiding it away. Kind of like what Lance is doing, right now.

The words come easily from there.

“My parents died in a car crash, too.”

Lance quiets against him, fingers curling into Keith’s shirt. Keith’s told him before that his parents are out of the picture, but never how. It’s been so long. He’s tried his best to forget.

“I was ten or eleven, I think. Shiro was halfway through his first year of college. My dad went to pick up mom from work and…”

Keith remembers the knock on the door, the hint of cigarette smoke. Sirens coloring his porch purple.

“A drunk driver hit them, running a red light. The police said their deaths were instantaneous, but… I still wonder, you know. Whether or not they suffered.”

He remembers being handed a picture. He remembers being asked, “is this your mom? Is this your dad?” People say, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” People say, “your brother will be home soon. Just sit tight, okay?”

“I used to beat myself up all the time for not going with my dad that night. Would they have been at a different light had I gone? Would we have stopped for dinner somewhere, maybe, and they’d still be here today with me? But I realized, eventually, that nothing would have changed had I been there or not, other than the fact that I might’ve died, too.”

“Keith,” Lance whispers, voice raw with compassion. Keith shakes his head, swallowing the weight in his throat, the pressure against his eyes.

“There’s nothing else you could’ve done, Lance. You cared, you did your best. You have so much heart and you give it all to the kids you meet at the clinic. You give it all to everyone around you. I’m sure that, just by being there for that boy and Erin, you were enough.”

He looks at Lance fiercely, needing him to understand. He’s enough. He will always be enough.

“Thank you,” Lance says, smiling weakly through tears. He hugs Keith as close as he can — to provide comfort, to convey just how grateful he is that Keith opened up something so personal to him in order to empathize with Lance’s grief. 

“You know I’m here for you, always, right?” Keith asks, burying his face in Lance’s shoulder to hide his own tears.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I just want you to be okay.”

They stay together like that, rocking back and forth, until Keith moves to get them both tissues and water. Keith wipes Lance’s tears away, and Lance makes funny faces at him to make him smile, to make them laugh. When they lie down again, Lance asks:

“Tell me about them? Your parents.”

It catches Keith off guard, the soft request. For some reason, it makes him want to cry. Not in grief, more like nostalgia. He hasn’t talked about them in years, not even with Shiro.

Old wounds never fade if you keep picking at the scabs, but this one runs too deep to ever go away.

The memories flit to the surface, one by one, like photographs. Keith finds himself speaking softly, memories blending and folding together. There’s Dad coming home from work, pastries in hand from the bakery down the street. There’s Mom painting watercolors on the living room wall, dress mottled pink, smile like a peony. 

He remembers how he used to sit in the backseat with Shiro, watching Dad teach Mom how to drive. In the empty parking lot, the yellow street lights passed above like clockwork, around and around as they drove in circles. Keith would count them until he fell asleep, see the lights even in his dreams.

When he wakes, and the light fades into Lance — eyes puffy from crying, drool drying on the corner of his mouth — there’s a feeling so full it overwhelms him. Making him weak. Making him brave.

“I love you,” he tries, barely a whisper, watching the sunrise bloom across Lance’s skin.

“I’m in love with you.”

 

&

 

He needs to tell him.

They start sleeping in the same bed again, every night, and every morning Keith wakes to the thought, _I love you, Lance. Do you love me back?_

It’s a constant ache inside his chest, growing day by day as Lance regains his color, slowly but surely. He’s starting to smile more, and putting in less hours at the hospital to take care of his mental health with campus therapy. It’s a relief, seeing the change, getting to spend more hours with him, soaking up his brightness.

It’s also a disaster, since Keith winds up falling harder than ever.

He finds himself fumbling in their conversations now, sometimes too distracted by the thought of Lance to realize that Lance is actually right in front of him, trying to get his attention. Sometimes Lance will smirk at him and Keith’s brain will shutter off, or sometimes Lance will call him ‘babe’ as a passing joke and Keith can’t brush it off. Every time Lance throws his arm around Keith’s shoulder, his skin itches for more, and every morning when the alarm goes off, Keith has to run to the showers before Lance notices what’s up.

It’s getting out of hand, his feelings, and Keith understands he needs to tell Lance before Lance finds out in the worst way possible. They sleep in the same bed every night after all, and if Lance is blindsided to how Keith really feels about him — if Lance doesn’t love him back the same — Keith doesn’t know how he’ll react. Will he feel like he’s being taken advantage of? Will he be uncomfortable and stop wanting to spend time with Keith? Cut off contact? 

Keith knows his thoughts irrational, but he can’t help it. He’s offering his heart to someone who has the power to break it, and the risk of losing Lance is terrifying. He can’t imagine them going back to being the same if their feelings aren’t mutual. 

But there’s that flicker of hope, too, one that he can’t ignore forever.

_What if._

_What if Lance loves me back?_

 

_._

_._

_._

 

One afternoon on the way home from class, Keith sees Lance and Nyma standing on the balcony, heads bent towards each other, speaking quietly. Behind them, the sun casts haloes around their heads, cream and honey, bathing them in light. They look almost surreal, like they’re out of a painting. Picturesque lovers against the sunset.

Lance is smiling, blue eyes amber in the warm glow. Keith’s about to call out to him when he sees Nyma lean in, tilt up on her tiptoes and—

Kisses him.

 

.

.

.

 

He doesn’t see Lance for the next week. Or the next after that.

 

.

.

.

 

It’s not like Keith’s trying to avoid him, it’s just—

Okay, he is. He’s avoiding Lance like his life depends on it, and in a way, it does, because a broken heart can only take so much. 

“You’re a fucking moron,” Pidge tells him when they finally corner him in the library, voice a knife’s blade in his gut. Behind them, Hunk tries to pull them back, although his face is set in a grimace, too. Keith can barely face him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Nothing, I’ve been busy.”

“That’s bullshit, Kogane. That’s fucking bullshit and I’m not gonna put up with your—”

“Keith, why are you avoiding Lance?” Hunk asks, settling his hand on Pidge’s shoulder to calm them down.

“I—” Keith starts, but he has no excuse, no explanation aside from—

_They kissed. Nyma and Lance. He’s going back to her. He doesn’t love me back._

_—_ “I just need space, I have a lot going on right now and I can’t be next to him right now. I just can’t.”

Hunk’s mouth is cut in a grim line, eyes conflicted, and Pidge looks like they’re on the verge of crying. Keith hates that he’s the one causing those expressions. Not only is he avoiding Lance, but he’s also hurting two of his best friends in the process.

Keith wishes he had the courage to face Lance. He wishes he had the strength to pull out the broken shards of his heart from his skin and mend the pieces. He wishes he had the selflessness to be happy for him.

“We can’t help you if you’re not going to be honest with us, Keith,” Hunk pleads. Pidge nods, swiping furiously across their face to hide their tears. 

“I don’t know what happened between you two, but cutting Lance out of your life isn’t going to fix it.”

“I know,” Keith says, helplessly. “I know.

They stand together in the corner of the hallway for another minute, before Pidge sighs and wraps their arms around Keith for a brief, tight hug.

“We’ll give you more time, but you can’t take too long, okay?”

“He misses you, you know,” Hunk says as they leave, and that’s what hurts Keith the most.

 

&

 

The days of the past two weeks blend together, Keith going through the motions mechanically. Go to the gym in the morning, attend class, do homework, eat dinner alone. Walk to the front of Lance’s door. Backtrack. Still a coward. Still hurting.

He misses him, so much. He misses Hunk, Pidge, and Shay, too. Everything’s fucked up because he can’t simply swallow back his feelings and shove them to the safest part of himself. The quicker he does it, the faster he can return to his friends. The faster he can return to Lance and feel right again.

He drags his hand down his face, the words on the page he’s reading blurring together even after the fifth time rereading. He can barely concentrate.

“Oh hey, Keith, right?”

Keith looks up and sees Nyma standing in front of him, smiling shyly. Her makeup’s done immaculately, unlike the first time he saw her up-close. She’s practically glowing, radiating a happiness in her that wasn’t there that night either.

The glint in her green eyes reminds him of Lance.

“I just wanted to apologize, about the first time we met. I was really rude then, and definitely not in the right state of mind. I’m sorry.” 

It takes a while for Keith to register what she’s saying, the words sinking slow as molasses. In truth, he’s never had a reason to judge Nyma’s character, aside from the way she hurt Lance. She seems genuine, and there’s a self-assuredness to her composure now, like she really is in a better place in life.

“It’s okay,” he says, and doesn’t know how else to reply. Nyma lights up though, clearly put at ease by Keith’s answer.

“Thanks, that means a lot. Also, I wanted to say: I’m happy for you. Lance is amazing guy. I’m wishing you two all the best.”

Keith blinks, and somewhere inside him, a pin drops. “What do you mean?” 

Nyma frowns, troubled. “I thought you and Lance got together?”

The world starts spinning. His own voice sounds so far away. “What?”

“He didn’t tell you? Wait—” There’s a shift in Nyma’s expression, realization dawning on her. “Oh no, you saw us, didn’t you? Oh my god, I’m so sorry. That was a misunderstanding, I was just borrowing Lance’s kindness one last time. I asked him if we could ever get back together, and he said he fell in love with someone else. I thought—”

Nyma places a hand over her mouth, eyes going wide. Keith stands up, but it feels like the ground is slipping right from under him.

“I have to go,” he says, before picking up his stuff and sprinting out the library, running faster than he’s ever done in his life.

_He said he fell in love with someone else. I thought—_

_I’m an idiot,_ Keith berates himself, jumping over railings and dodging pedestrians as fast as he can. He’s not even sure where he’s going, only knows that he needs to find Lance immediately, and that he’s attending class somewhere in the nursing school. He calls Pidge midway, asking completely out of breath if they know which classroom Lance is in. Pidge gives the answer and gets half an alarmed question in before Keith hangs up and vaults up the stairs of the building.

When he bursts into the lecture hall, the professor is mid-sentence, a powerpoint of something stomach-churning projected on the screen. About fifty heads turn simultaneously to face him, a rising murmur rippling through the crowd. Keith doesn’t care about any of that, looking desperately for the one face that matters.

“Keith, what are you doing here?”

Keith focuses on the direction of the voice, catching sight of Lance as he stands up from his seat, moving towards the aisle. He’s wearing that silly ‘hard corg’ shirt he had on the first night they met, his chestnut hair rumpled in the back, kissing his ears, framing blue _blue_ eyes, and Keith has never loved anyone more than this. He can’t imagine loving anyone else more than this.

He meets him in the middle, grabbing onto his wrist.

“We need to talk.”

Lance pulls out of his grasp. “Oh, so now you want to talk?” he says, tone sharp with derision and hurt. Keith ignores the pain in his own chest, determined to get through to him.

“Lance, please.”

“Keith, I’m in the middle of class.”

“Then come out of class—”

“I can’t just up and leave are you crazy—”

“It’ll only take a minute—”

“Why can’t this wait, why are you—”

“Because I’m in love with you!”

Silence.

Deafening. Lance looks shell-shocked, but Keith goes on, because he owes Lance that much at least.

“You’re right, I’m a hothead. I saw you with Nyma that day and I jumped to conclusions. I’m sorry; I should’ve listened to you instead of running away. And maybe it’s too late now, maybe I’m too late. But god, Lance, I miss you. I miss you and your stupid face and your dumb laugh and sleeping next to you, and I don’t want to know what I’d do without you.”

The words tumble out of him, every piece of his heart laid out in front of Lance. Keith missed every part of him, from his nose to the tips of his toes, always cold when they press against Keith’s calves. Hands warm against his chest. A singing voice too loud in the mornings but never not sweet, calling out to Keith.

He missed his sunshine scent, his monkey ears. The way Lance knows whenever he needs a hug. The way Lance laughs at his jokes when no one else does.

He missed their late night talks, their stupid arguments over nothing. Even Lance yelling at him, like he is now.

“You — you can’t just tell me you love me in the middle of class!”

“I do though! I love you, do you—?”

“Yes, yes I love you too okay?! I’ve had a crush on your dumb mulleted ass since freshman year! Happy now?”

Lance’s cheeks are flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly, and Keith has never been so wonderstruck.

“Lance I—”

“And I was going to tell you, but then you disappeared on me, and I was so angry with you because you went and jumped to conclusions again, and I thought maybe you just didn’t care about me as much as I care about you, but then here you are—”

“Lance I’m sorry—”

“—Confessing to me in class, Keith, like what the fuck, and—”

Keith cradles his face and kisses him.

Gasps resound across the classroom, camera flashes going off, but everything zeros in for Keith. On Lance, mouth tasting of cinnamon sugar. Lance melting into him.

“I’ve loved you this whole time,” Lance says softly, tears in his eyes when they break apart. “How could you not see that?”

Keith strokes his cheekbone, trying to convey through touch just how apologetic he is. Just how much he feels the same. “I’m a dumbass, I know. I’ll make up for it.”

“You better,” Lance sniffles, smiling, and Keith presses his forehead against his, feeling like his heart is about to burst. They both laugh, lost in their own universe.

“This is all well and good, but Mr. Mendez, could you please escort your boyfriend outside? Class is still in session.”

Lance jumps a bit in surprise, and they both turn to see his professor smiling amusedly at them, tapping her pen. If possible, Lance turns an even brighter shade of red, and he starts dragging Keith out the door.

When he pushes Keith back into the hall though, he sneaks a final kiss, one that Keith wants to press further. Wants to push Lance against the wall and kiss him like he’s been meaning to for the past two months, half a year, maybe since the moment Lance barged into his room at 3AM.

“Hey, hey,” Lance says breathily against his lips, smiling. “Slow down hot stuff, mmph.”

Keith licks into Lance’s mouth, craving more of Lance’s sweetness, the soft noises he makes. He wants to kiss Lance until he forgets where they are.

“I’ll see you later,” Lance tries again, eyes hazy and mouth glazed, like he’s kiss drunk. Like he doesn’t know his hands are still clutching onto the front of Keith’s shirt, holding him there.

If Keith kisses Lance for a few minutes more after that, his professor can forgive him.

 

&

 

They don’t see each other until later that night.

When Keith knocks on Lance’s door, a calm settles over him as soon as he sees the other’s face, nerves quieting. It’s like carbonation, bubbling beneath his skin. It’s like both nothing and everything’s changed.

They joke around as usual, but they flirt as well. They work on homework, and sneak kisses in between. When they get ready for bed, elbows bumping side by side, every touch feels electric. New yet comforting.

Lance hooks their legs together as they settle into bed, and Keith feels like he’s come home.

“Hey,” he says, soft and bright. Keith smiles and kisses Lance’s knuckles in their interlinked hand.

“Hey.”

“You love me.”

“I do.” 

Lance’s breath catches, as if he wasn’t expecting Keith to be so open about it. His expression is awed, a little disbelieving, and Keith wants to kiss him until Lance knows the truth with a surety more abiding than his own bones.

He does just that, kissing Lance gently, earnestly, until Lance chases after him for more. For something deeper.

Keith grips the tight contour of his waist as Lance arches deliciously in his hand, pressing their stomachs together, grinding against his thigh. He whimpers when Keith slides his hand down his waistband, palm grabbing onto his ass, spreading his cheeks apart. Lance is all smooth, soft skin and Keith can’t get enough of him.

“Just to warn you, I’m loud,” Lance says as Keith pulls his pants down his legs and shucks his shirt over his head. He wiggles his eyebrows as he bounces naked on the bed, watching Keith undress, and Keith is miraculously seduced anyway.

“It’s okay, I like you loud.” Keith pushes him back down, hand dragging all over new, uncovered skin, making Lance gasp for breath.

“Really? Cause I can count exactly seven times you told me to shut up today, so—”

“Shut up.” Keith smiles as he kisses Lance again, feeling the other’s lips curve against his own.

I love you, Lance says, as Keith leans down to taste every part of him.

I love you, he says, moon glow coloring his skin, lips red and slick.

Lance opens up for him, taking every inch, and he says, “I love you, Keith,” and makes Keith forget everything else.

 

&

 

Really, Keith shouldn’t be surprised when the hall monitor knocks on Lance’s door the next morning, informing a sleep-rumpled Lance that they had received a complaint about the noise level last night. Keith tries to disappear under the covers on Lance’s bed, letting himself be swallowed whole.

“Rise and shine, cupcake,” Lance sings after the hall monitor leaves, jumping onto Keith’s prone form, smushing him like a koala bear.

“Gergmoffme yurheafy,” Keith grumbles, feigning annoyance while his heart soars. Lance sheds the shirt he temporarily wore for the visitor, and Keith takes the time to admire his warm, brown skin, bathed in the morning light. It’s peppered with teeth marks and bruises, blossoming mauve and purple, pretty in a way that fills Keith with satisfaction.

He lifts his arms up to pull Lance down beside him, but Lance seems to have other ideas, shimmying under the covers to below Keith’s waist, blue eyes sparking mischievously.

When he nips at Keith’s hip bone, Keith feels his cock stir, heat pooling in his gut. Memories from last night come rushing over him — how Lance bent beneath him, how Lance tasted on his tongue.

“I’m hungry,” Lance says, mouth curving into the V of Keith’s hip, hands tugging down his briefs. Keith cards his hand through Lance’s hair as Lance’s lips close around him, biting down on a moan.

They don’t leave the room well until noon.

When they finally meet up with Pidge and Hunk, it’s at the student union, where, for some reason, everyone seems to be looking at Keith and Lance as they walk past. It’s weird, and a little disturbing, until Pidge catches sight of them and waves enthusiastically, an impish glimmer in their eyes.

“Congrats you scandalous gays. Y’all went viral.”

Pidge sets their laptop screen in front of them, a video of Keith’s in-class confession to Lance playing on multiple windows and social media platforms, each with at least a hundred thousand views and counting.

“Oh my god,” Lance says, burying his face into his arms. Keith mimics the sentiment, turning the laptop around so that they can’t see it. Pidge pats both their heads, not the least bit sympathetic.

“You know if y’all just got your shit together in the first place, it wouldn’t have come to this dramatic AF, public conclusion.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Lance says, but there’s only fond exasperation in his voice as he smiles at Keith.

“So, does this mean you two are officially together?” Hunk asks, bouncing on his feet.

Keith laces his and Lance’s hands together and smiles back. “Thought it was obvious.”

Pidge makes gagging noises while Hunk cheers, but they all pile together in a group hug, and everything in the universe feels right again.

 

&

 

Winter quickly melts into spring, the scent of flowers blooming all across campus. People start studying outside again, the heat soothing even in the afternoons, the grass warm against their backs. Keith moves into Lance’s room, even though that’s not technically allowed. No one tells on them though, certainly not Rolo, who’s also mellowed out as the months passed. He even apologizes to Keith and Lance for his attitude, and tells them that he’s going to try to make up with Nyma.

Around late-March, Shiro and Allura visit for the annual Galra versus Altea basketball game. They arrange for the group to meet at Coran’s diner for dinner before the game. It’s the first time Keith’s seen Lance so nervous.

“What if they don’t like me?” he asks for the nth time that day, fidgeting like a leaf in the wind. Keith rolls his eyes, grabbing Lance’s hand to pull him forward, not letting him run away.

“I’m pretty sure my brother already loves you more than he loves me, and Allura’s the nicest person I’ve ever met who’s definitely going to love you, too. You’re going to be fine.”

“Keith, I know I’m irresistible and adored by all, but just. What if. What if—”

Keith kisses him quiet. In the blue twilight, beneath the red glow of the diner, Lance finally stills, lips lingering against Keith’s.

“I love you, and you love me. That’s enough.”

Lance smiles, cheeks flushing pink. “And you say I’m the embarrassing one.”

When they walk in, everyone’s already there, settled into the corner booth. Coran took the night off to join the festivities with them, but it seems he outdid himself anyway, the spread of food on the table enough to feed an army and then some.

“Keith, you’re here!” Shiro notices, waving at them. Everyone turns to greet them as well, getting up to make room for them at the table. “And you must be Lance!”

“Oh my god,” Lance says, freezing on the spot, just as Allura points a perfectly manicured finger at him and gasps, “It’s you!”

“You know each other?” Shiro asks curiously.

“He’s the guy I told you about, the one that hit on me!”

Keith chokes on air. “ _You hit on Allura?!_ ”

“I didn’t know she was your brother’s _girlfriend_!” Lance says, waving his arms frantically. 

“Oh my god,” Pidge wheezes, falling off the edge of the booth cackling.

“She’s like, your mom!”

“Keith you little shit I’m only two years older than you!”

Turns out, for six weeks, Lance and Allura had been grouped together in the same OB-GYN rotation, a joint collaboration between Altea’s Nursing School and Galra Medical School. Lance had made it his life’s mission for those six weeks to use an embarrassing pick-up line on Allura every morning, making her laugh. After the initial hit and miss — Lance understanding that he stood no chance and Allura realizing that he just liked to joke around — they became good acquaintances, bonding over their love of black coffee and the work they do.

“Some of your pick up lines actually weren’t half bad,” Allura says as they start eating dinner, passing around bread rolls and mashed potatoes.

“Why thank you, my lady.” Lance winks. “You’d better be a cardiologist, because something about you makes me want to give you my heart.”

Allura snorts, before she remembers that she’s supposed to roll her eyes and act exasperated, smothering her laughter behind her hand. Everyone else at the table groans.

“Lance, please, I’m trying to eat Coran’s amazing fried chicken without getting indigestion here.”

“Talk to me Hunky-Bear when you can come up with a better pick up line.”

“Two kittens are on a sloped roof. Which one falls—”

“Oh my god, Hunk, no, you’ve told that one a bajillion times.”

“It’s a classic.”

“To you!”

“I wanna hear it,” Shiro pipes up, and the whole table collectively goes up in an uproar. 

It's loud, and it's a mess. But as Keith watches all of them talk and laugh and eat together, he thinks he’s found a family he’ll cherish for the rest of his life.

 

.

.

.

 

It’s the last week of finals, and Lance’s room is a war zone.

Not an inch of the floor isn’t covered in sheets and diagrams, and towers of textbooks are perched precariously all around, threatening to topple over any second. Lance is at the epicenter,cross-legged and hunched over an entire binder full of notes, two pens tucked behind his ears as he highlights an entire page.

It’s adorable, if Keith wasn’t dying in the grips of anxiety. He’s completely neglected his own studying at this point, choosing to watch Lance work as he mulls over what to do inside his head. 

“Keith, buddy, pumpkin, can you please stop bouncing your knee like that? I’m trying to concentrate here.

“Right, sorry.”

Lance sighs, tossing his highlighter down on the ground and shuffling away his papers to turn to Keith.

“Okay, what’s wrong? You always throw a fit whenever I give you a, quote, _embarrassing_ nickname, but you didn’t even react this time.”

Keith chews on the inside of his cheek as Lance stares him down, expression morphing into a concerned frown when Keith keeps silent.

“Hey, seriously, is everything all right?” Lance moves to sit on the bed beside him, hand reaching up to rub soothingly against Keith’s back. Keith closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Don’t. Freak out, okay?”

Lance’s brows furrow in bafflement, but he nods. Keith stands up and opens the bottom drawer of the desk, pulling out a small box. He sits back down on the edge of the bed, watching as Lance’s eyes widen when he catches sight of what’s in Keith’s hand.

“So, um. I got us a place off campus, and—”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, I’ll live with you next year.”

“You didn’t even let me finish,” Keith says, not able to keep the smile breaking wide across his face. Lance smiles back just as wide, laugh lines crinkling.

“Maybe I’m the impatient one this time.”

All of Keith’s nerves vanish. He should’ve expected as much, knowing Lance always has that effect on him. His anchor in any storm.

He gets down on one knee and holds the apartment key in front of him. “Lance Arnaldo Espinosa Méndez, will you do me the honor of being my lawfully wedded roommate next year?”

Lance snorts, unable to hold his laughter, eyes twinkling like the stars. “One, that is the dorkiest thing you’ve ever said to me. And two: of course.” 

He accepts the apartment key in his hands, and when Keith leans up to kiss him, he meets him halfway, and Keith knows that everything’s changed.

Everything’s right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End. Thank you for reading this far!! Please leave a review or come chat with me on twitter @ephemelody if you'd like ^^ I hope you have a wonderful day!


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